Stargate - The Fifth Race
by CGH57
Summary: Having seen to the downfall of the Goa'uld Empire and that of the Ascended Ori; the destruction of all known Replicators and the current destabilisation of the Wraith Domain in the Pegasus Galaxy, the Tau'ri have proven themselves a power to be reckoned with. At least for the time being...
1. A Day in the Life

**Milky Way – Earth – Atlantis**

**STARGATE OPERATIONS BALCONY**

It was difficult to say which was louder: the sound of the balcony door sweeping open, or the disgruntled sigh of a Lieutenant General who could never seem to catch a break. _Not even ten minutes_, Jack thought. Looking to his watch, however, proved an even greater disappointment.

Sam hesitated in the doorway. "Sorry, am I interrupting something, sir?"

Jack lifted his head, a smile forming at the sound of her voice. "Of course not," he said, turning back to look at her. "If you were here with more paperwork, however…"

Sam smiled, though not in the least bit surprised – his desk a testament to that fact. "Bad day?"

His exhaustion, having worn its way deep into his features, seemed enough to answer her question. "Oh, you don't know the half of it."

A hot dry wind blew against her as she moved to cross to Jack's side; the balcony rail warm to her touch from the heat of the sun above.

Jack's expression lightened. "So, how's the Victory coming along?"

"Well, the Asgard systems have all been installed. We're just waiting for the data packets to uncompress before we can fully initialise the core."

"Right on schedule."

"It should be, yes. Commander Robinson is currently overseeing the transfer of supplies, but it shouldn't be long before the first test flight is underway."

Jack nodded, drawing in a deep breath of the cool and salty sea air; his built-up tension at long last beginning to relax. "Sure as hell beats the Pentagon, doesn't it?" he said, looking out toward where San Francisco had long since become but a blur against the horizon; a mesh of green and blue and white where it clashed with the sea below and the sky above.

"I think I made more decisions out here than I ever did in my office," Sam said.

Jack lowered his gaze back down over the city. "I wish I had that luxury."

Sam smiled, a knowing expression. "Well, if it means anything, sir, there's no one I'd rather have in charge."

Jack smiled in silent appreciation of her words, relaxing further in the comfort of her presence; knowing that he could always count on her to dispel his own doubts. But in that thoughtful quiet that followed, her words began to weigh upon him, until a single thought occupied his mind.

"Oh, I can think of one."

Sam's brow wrinkled in thought.

It was only when she met his gaze, however, that his true meaning became clear.

She closed her eyes and nodded, reflecting upon his words as they looked down upon the city together.

**STARGATE OPERATIONS**

The emptiness of the Gate Room was a hard thing to ignore, Banks found, her train of thought derailed once more. In her mind's eye, she could still see it. After three years it was difficult to put aside from memory."

"Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later. You know how paranoid the IOA are," Chuck said, managing a brief glance up at her from where he lay, flat on his back beneath the D.H.D. control console.

Banks nodded with his reply, knowing the truth of it, but it still did little to ease her thoughts. "I know," she said, "but it just doesn't feel right."

"Better wrong than having it blow up in our faces again," Chuck said. "And besides, it's not like we're going to be here to notice it anyway. In a few days we'll be twiddling our thumbs on the Daedalus on our way to our new posting aboard a derelict Ancient warship that's currently adrift in the void of intergalactic space."

Banks then turned back, the thought detaching her from looking down upon the Gate Room below. "Oh, boy," she said, matching that of his own dry enthusiasm.

"And to think, my family thinks I'm studying abroad."

"Still?"

Chuck grinned. "Surprisingly enough, yeah," he said, reaching across for his tablet computer. "Not sure how long it's gunna hold up for though. These same old excuses are starting to wear a bit thin."

"Same here," Banks said. "Being stuck in another galaxy does tend to strain relations a bit. I mean, look at Marzano. She was part of the original expedition and she came back to divorce papers."

"Marzano?"

"Yeah. She worked in the infirmary. Her cover was 'Doctors Without Borders', but her husband just got fed up with not hearing from her for so long. He made claims of abandonment and took their kids and their house, leaving her with nothing."

Chuck paused in thought at that.

"Hard to believe, I know," Banks said, recalling the sorrow of Marzano's loss from memory, "but it does add a certain perspective to joining… one which even I overlooked."

Chuck nodded. "Same here. They pretty much had me at 'aliens', 'spaceships', and 'intergalactic travel'. I don't think I've been so quick to sign up for anything in all my life."

A smile creased the corner of Banks' mouth.

"Still, it's one hell of a commitment, that's for sure," Chuck continued, turning back to his work as he reached up toward the next panel. "Being deployed to another galaxy to combat an alien race that can suck the life out of you with their hands wasn't exactly what I had imagined for a first posting." He took a breath, groaning against the strain that had slowly been working its way up his back.

"Are you alright down there?"

Chuck groaned again. "Lie down here for an hour and ask me that again."

"Wanna switch?"

With a slight click, the panel came away in Chuck's hands. "Nah. No point. Just got this last node to bypass and…" Putting aside the panel, he reached up and quite simply pulled out one of the control crystals. "… done."

And in that following moment, as Chuck slumped against the floor with a weary sigh, the D.H.D. control console powered down – for what may be its last and final time.

Looking to the tablet in her hands Banks nodded. "That's it. It's isolated."

"Ah, thank god!"

"Amen to that," Banks agreed as she placed her tablet down on the console above him. "Here." She offered her hand, which Chuck graciously accepted as he shuffled out and, with a strength which surprised even him, Banks hauled him up to his feet.

He dropped into a chair. "Thanks. Another hour down there and I might've needed a medic."

* * *

The balcony door slid open and Jack's face twitched with impatience as he and Sam walked back inside; his hands balling into fists at his sides. He shook his head and pressed a finger to his ear, silencing Carl Strom mid-sentence. "I'm entitled to a break, Strom. If you don't like it, I'd be more than happy to refer you to human resources."

Sam smiled at the remark, taking as much pleasure in Jack's defiance as he did. And although she could only make out a few words here and there over his radio as they spoke outside on the balcony, it was pretty clear that his reply had been met by silence – or at least for a few stunned moments.

Jack then sighed, seemingly being drowned in the resumption of Strom's bureaucratic rhetoric as they passed through into Stargate Operations.

"Colonel Carter?" Banks said, stepping away from the console.

Sam smiled warmly in reply, detaching herself from Jack, who continued on through into his office, whispering curses under his breath as he went. "Yes."

"We're finished."

"That's ahead of schedule."

Her answer came with honest surprise, with McKay's estimate having fallen far short of the mark.

"Well, there aren't many who know the city's systems like we do, Colonel," Chuck said, "but we aim to please, nonetheless."

"That you do."

"So, what's next, Colonel?" Banks asked.

Sam thought on that a moment. "Well, you weren't due to ship out for another three days, so…"

She let that linger in the air, watching the hopeful expressions on their faces.

**OFFICE OF JONATHAN J. O'NEILL**

Having had enough, Jack took out his earpiece and tossed it into his top desk drawer, letting Strom's last few words fall on deaf ears as he dropped into his chair. "God, that man is a piece of work."

"What did he want this time?"

Jack looked up as Sam entered his office. "For me to get back to my desk, apparently," he said, shaking his head. "I mean… you know, for someone who's been dragged out of bed at four in the morning, you'd think he'd cut me some slack."

"Four?"

"Yep," Jack said with absent enthusiasm. "An emergency summit with the Jaffa High Council."

_Another?_ "What was it for this time?"

"Oh, some of their ships went missing," he said with the same unenthused tone. "Waste of damned time if you ask me. But that's what you get with the IOA negotiating our treaty obligations."

Sam sat down across from him, managing a dry smile – all too familiar with the politics that accompanied their work. She then lowered her gaze, finding it hard not to glance down at the desk between them. A disordered and disorganised mass of papers and files littered its surface, and her eyebrows rose in surprise at the depth to it all. "Boy, you sure weren't kidding about the paperwork."

"Intelligence reports, mostly." Jack yawned, sinking further into his chair. "There's a financial assessment report in there somewhere, which is what Strom has been pestering me for all morning."

"Well, if the IOA have one redeeming quality, it's their persistence."

"And their pessimism, rigidity…" Jack's phone rang. With a disgruntled sigh, he closed his eyes. "That man does not know when to quit."

"He must need that file pretty bad," Sam said.

"Then I'll strap the damned thing to a drone and fire it up his…. Oh" -Jack then saw the caller I.D.- "it's Daniel." Reaching across his desk, he put the phone on speaker. "Daniel. Glad tidings, I hope?"

"Bad day?"

"Oh, you don't know the half of it," Jack said, glancing across at Sam.

There was a slight pause.

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"Yeah…" Daniel said warily. "You see…"

**Milky Way – Earth – Atlantis, Eastern Pier**

**TRANSPORTER OUTSIDE JANUS' LAB**

"Well, it was some mighty fine shooting, I can tell ya," Jack said as the transporter doors opened. "And I can honestly say that I can't see anyone breaking that record for a while."

Sam's face flushed with a smile. "Well, I can't take all the –"

Her last words came out in a sudden and forced breath as Jack's arm shot out across her, pushing her back into the transporter. Sam's breath whistled through gritted teeth from the pain of the impact. But no sooner had he done so than a large shipping crate went past; narrowly missing them both had it not been for Jack's quick reflexes.

Sam coughed, holding her stomach. "Thanks, sir."

"Sorry," Jack said. "Better that than a pancake, though."

"Well…" Sam coughed again, a faint smile on her lips. "… had you hit me any harder, I'm sure they would have come back up too."

Jack paused at the door, hesitating in his step before stepping out of the transporter, and he looked on as the crate was hauled on up the corridor; a destination tag clear to see on its rear – **'DR. JACKSON'S LAB/ JANUS' LAB – ATLANTIS'**.

But then he paused again… and sniffed the air. "That smell."

"What smell?"

"Exactly," Jack said, sniffing the air once more. "The last time I was down here, it smelled worse than my pond."

Sam took to sniffing the air for herself; a clean, fresh scent filling her nose. "Hey, you're right," she said, turning his own puzzled frown back upon him. "It's gone."

Jack nodded. "Not exactly something your everyday air freshener can cover up."

Sam nodded in return; then shifted her gaze to the wall beside her. "It's been cleaned. Look." She stepped closer, brushing her fingers over its surface, where not a single trace of the discoloured waterline remained to be seen, anywhere. "The waterline's gone."

"But… but he only just moved in on Tuesday," Jack said, incredulous.

"Would you want to put up with that smell every day?"

"Hey, I'm just saying, it took three days before an engineer came to fix my toilet last week. Three days! Do you know what it's like having to take a transporter every time you've gotta go?"

Sam's face split into a wide smile, unable to suppress the laughter that followed.

"Oh, ha-ha," Jack said, regarding her with a disapproving, but otherwise impersonal frown. "Just wait until you have to find empty quarters in the middle of the night – and in this city of all places. And my bladder aint exactly what it used to be, you know."

"Well, in all fairness, Colonel Orenski has done an exceptional job restructuring city operations since Atlantis' return," Sam said, "and especially given the damage it sustained during the battle with the Super-Hive. I'm sure she spared an engineer as soon as she could."

Jack pursed his lips in thought, but then he nodded, deciding to let the matter pass. There was still much to be done before even he could call it a day – insofar as his work was concerned – and Janus' Lab still beckoned. Or to be precise, a potential catastrophe beckoned. "Well, we best not keep him waiting."

Sam nodded her agreement and walked with him, watching as the shipping crate disappeared down another corridor. And it was there where they both came to a halt, staring off down the corridor with almost equal surprise.

Jack took a deep sigh of a breath, brushing a hand through his hair. "What in the world…"

They both had to blink – several times – to believe what they were seeing before it became an undeniable fact. For, stacked almost from floor to ceiling and seemingly from wall to wall were dozens upon dozens of crates and boxes, all of which bore the same destination tag as the one being manoeuvred into position before them by an Airman.

"A few things." Jack shook his head. "That's what he said to me. _Just a few things, Jack. No big deal_."

"And here we have what amounts to his entire office," Sam said.

"And then some," Jack added.

As they looked on, the Airman settled the crate down and withdrew his pump truck; turning back to find he had an audience. "Oh!" he said, fumbling to salute and bring the pump truck to a halt. "Sorry, General. Colonel."

"As you –" Jack paused as he moved to step aside. "Erm, Miller," he said, noting the name on his uniform, "please tell me this is all of it?"

"Yes, it is, sir."

Jack rubbed his forehead thoughtfully, his mouth open, incredulous once more – wondering on what else had been going on that he did not know about. But he nodded, nonetheless. "As you were."

Miller relaxed at ease and moved on as Jack stepped back out of his path, and it wasn't until he had disappeared down the corridor at their backs that he finally took a breath. Though, in reflection, his words were only a partial truth. That was the last of the deliveries – for today.

* * *

"… seventy-three, seventy-four, seventy-five…" Jack shook his head, again. "Is he shipping over his office or a damned warehouse?"

Following on at his back, Sam couldn't help but agree – her own count significantly higher. But it was not the count which had piqued her interest. For each crate and box had a code; with the last four characters acting as a shipping reference. Most had been shipped from Stargate Command, whereas the others, a few dozen at most, were from Area 51.

"AC39?" Sam whispered under her breath, examining one of the more structurally reinforced crates. _AC?_ Her brow furrowed at that thought. _Potentially hazardous materials?_

Jack turned back toward her. "Carter?"

"AC," Sam said. "It's a storage reference I.D. from Area 51… for potentially hazardous materials."

"Oh, hazardous materials, you say?" came Jack's sarcastic riposte. "Well, I'm comforted."

Sam smiled. "Well, I can't say for sure, but it's possible that these may just be what was catalogued from the lab when we first discovered it."

"That's not exactly filling me with confidence either, you know."

* * *

A kick confirmed that the door was, in fact, real – but words simply failed Jack.

"…"

Sam noted a slight twitch of pain come over him from the kick – his standard military boots having been given over for a pair of smart and shiny ones to match the dress uniform he wore.

"A door?"

"Looks like."

And then, said door opened.

"I figured that was you."

Jack's eyes narrowed, fixing Daniel with an otherwise impassive expression as the moment dragged on. But then, he drew in a breath and turned to Sam, "You know," he began with a slight dramatic flair to his tone, "though my memory may not be what it used to be, I could have sworn there used to be a wall around here somewhere."

Daniel blinked. "What?"

**JANUS' LAB**

"Well, the IOA insisted on the door," Daniel said. "Not a lot of them were willing to risk their lives on McKay's tone generator."

"And I don't blame 'em," Jack said. "Hell, after Carter explained it to me, I was afraid to walk through the thing."

"He took some encouragement…" A smile grew on Sam's lips. "… and a push."

Daniel laughed lightly at the memory.

"Well, forgive me for not wanting to end up a wall decoration," Jack said with polite sarcasm; a Han Solo-esque image coming to his mind. "And just how in the hell did you manage to get all of this done so fast? You only moved in on Tuesday."

"Colonel –"

"Orenski, yes, I know. But how? If I need anything doing, I get put on a waiting list – and I'm meant to be the Head of Homeworld Command, for cryin' out loud."

"And so was I."

Jack drew back, resisting the urge to laugh. "Oh, really? Because that door and those crates out there would beg to differ."

"It was a four-week waiting list, it that makes you feel any better." Daniel sensed an all too familiar tension behind his words. _He was having a bad day after all_, he reflected. "And it was another week before that door was even installed for that matter," he added. "I didn't actually move in _physically_ until Tuesday."

Jack pursed his lips.

"What about the wall?" Sam asked.

"Area 51," Daniel replied. "Apparently there are more than a few applications for being able to walk through walls."

Sam nodded – a few creative ideas already coming together in her mind. "Speaking of Area 51, I couldn't help but notice those crates outside. Potentially hazardous materials?"

Daniel nodded as she spoke. "Yes. They're from the original manifest which was catalogued from the lab upon its discovery."

"We suspected as much."

"Well, those hazardous classifications only came about due to Janus' encryptions," Daniel said, hoping to put Jack at ease – if at least for a moment, "and we've pretty much hit a dead end where those are concerned. I mean, McKay, Lee, Zelenka, and god knows how many others have pretty much exhausted their efforts on them."

"Myself included," Sam admitted.

Jack raised his eyebrows sceptically. "And you think you're going to succeed where they failed?"

"Well, I'm certainly going to try. I mean, for a guy who built a time machine and a device capable of disrupting the fundamental nature of subspace, who knows what else we might discover."

"Something to reverse ageing would be nice," Jack said. "It would do wonders for my prostate."

The corner of Daniel's mouth curled into a smile. "And if I come across anything, I'll be sure to let you know. But, if you're interested, you might want to check in with Doctor Lam if you want an answer to your ageing dilemma."

"Why, has she discovered the fountain of youth?"

"Well, if she has, she isn't letting on," Daniel said – much to Jack's disappointment. "She asked for my help translating Asgard cloning research."

"Ah, that takes me back," Jack mused.

"Asgard cloning research?" Sam repeated. "What would she be needing that for?"

"That's the thing. Apparently, Woolsey asked her to look into it for him."

"Woolsey?" Jack and Sam said together.

Daniel nodded.

"Okay, what would Woolsey be needing that for?" Sam asked, her brow furrowed in thought.

"She didn't say, but it sounded important – at least to Woolsey, anyway."

Jack drew a deep breath and yawned. "Well, as it happens, I have a meeting tomorrow morning for Eli's debriefing, so I can ask him then," he said, stifling another yawn with the back of his hand. "But in the meantime, what did you do?"

Daniel understood the question by tone alone. "Yeah…"

There came a long pause.

"Well?"

Daniel hesitated, then muttered, "Well…"

Jack cocked an eyebrow. "I'm not getting any younger here."

"All I did was pick it up."

"You know, that sounds eerily familiar to how most crisis's we face come about," Jack said. He glanced across at Sam. "Hazardous materials comes to mind, too."

Daniel refrained from rolling his eyes. He had expected as much.

"Then why did it activate now?" Sam asked. "If it's been handled before –"

"Okay, okay, okay," Jack broke in, "let's rewind a little bit, shall we? What exactly did you activate?"

Daniel said nothing; instead, turning back to one of the lab's workbenches at his back – the contents of one of the 'Hazardous Materials' crates neatly laid out over it. There were crystals in all manner of shapes, sizes and colours – none of which Sam recognised as she drew up to the bench beside him – but, set apart from the others was a small, disk-like object. "This," Daniel said.

Daniel made no move to touch it. Circular and with a convex shape to its top side, it had a dull, cloudy transparency to it, but no other distinguishing features.

"That?" Jack said.

Daniel nodded.

"A control crystal?" Sam asked.

"Your guess is as good as mine on that one," Daniel said. "Not even McKay could make heads or tails of it when we first began cataloguing the lab."

"So what's wrong with it?" Jack asked.

"Well, I had to triple check our records to be sure before I could believe it for myself, but this object – as far as our records were concerned – was clear; perfectly transparent."

Sam crouched lower over the crystal. "Really?"

Daniel nodded. "I didn't notice it at first. Not right away, anyway," he added. "But the pictures were pretty clear."

"So, you broke it?" Jack said.

Daniel shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine, but I sure as hell did something to it."

**Milky Way – Earth – San Francisco**

**DAVE SHEPPARD'S BEACH HOUSE**

"So, what do you guys think of the place?" Sheppard closed the door behind him. "Pretty sweet, am I right?"

McKay's mouth fell open, signalling his own silent approval as he took in more and more of the sight before them. The sun, shining out of a clear and cloudless sky, streamed in through a wide patio door which opened onto an expansive balcony. But the golden sands of the beach and the clear blue waters beyond held little interest for him, and neither did anything else he saw before him. There was an 'X-Files' pinball machine, and a 'Tekken 3' and a 'House of the Dead' arcade machine lining the wall to their right.

"Ah, sweet!" he said, already fishing for loose change in his pockets.

"I'll take that as a yes," Sheppard said.

"Nice of your brother to let us stay here," Ronon said, seeming to express little interest in the property either as he looked to Sheppard.

Sheppard nodded. "Well, given how many properties he owns, it's not like he's gunna miss one," he said, dropping off his duffle bag beside all their other luggage. "Sure as hell beats a hotel, though."

With no hotel experiences to draw upon other than his brief stays at Stargate Command, Ronon just nodded.

"You want a beer?"

"Sure."

As Sheppard moved off, Ronon lingered a few moments longer, drawn to the sound of gunfire as McKay made himself quite at home on the 'House of the Dead' arcade machine – his jacket slung over the back of the nearest chair. With an unenthused expression, he looked on as the game, and a rather short one at that, played out. A small smile lifted the corner of his mouth at that, which grew even wider as McKay scrambled to find more change. He lingered a moment or two before finally detaching himself from the game.

The living room flowed seamlessly with the dining and kitchen area; enough to comfortably accommodate over a dozen people.

"Take a load off," Sheppard said, indicating to the bar top. "Dave said that it should be pretty well stocked," he said as he approached the fridge, "but with what is another matter entirely."

And no sooner had Ronon sat down, then a beer came gliding over the polished oak surface of the bar top to rest in Ronon's waiting hand. "Thanks." And he took to downing half the bottle in a single draught.

"Well, here's to two weeks of sun, sea and surf," Sheppard said, tipping his bottle to Ronon before taking a swig.

Ronon drank down the last of his, depositing it down on the bar top as the last words left Sheppard's mouth. "And drink."

Sheppard smiled, indulging in his beer again. "That too."

**Milky Way – Earth – Atlantis**

**COMMUNICATION'S LAB**

There were few tells which Graham had observed when the transference took effect, but as he looked on, watching Colonel Telford sitting in silent meditation before him, none had yet to present themselves. He checked his watch again. It read 12:17 P.M.

_Late again_, he thought to himself – something which was becoming a bit of a habit for Eli of late, with each passing day amounting to yet another delay. Not that it could be helped, he knew – not with a four-day deadline hanging over the young man's head.

Telford then drew in a sharp inhale of breath.

And there was the tell.

"Oh, I am so not going to get used to this."

Graham stepped forward, regarding Telford with an uncertain glance. "Mr. Wallace, I assume?"

"The one and only."

"Authentication code?"

"One seven nine…" As he spoke, Eli leaned back, easing himself comfortably into the chair as he sought to adjust to the new lease of vitality offered by Telford's body. Back on Destiny, every effort seemed to exhaust him further, with fatigue and lethargy bearing him down as he pushed himself further, harder than he had ever done before. Sleep had been a luxury he could ill afford to indulge in, with each second of air proving as invaluable as the last. But here, all that blissfully melted away in the blink of an eye. "… eight seven four zero."

"Welcome back, Mr. Wallace. I'm Staff Sergeant Graham. When you are ready, I will be your escort to the conference room for the debriefing."

With a noncommittal nod, Eli sunk himself further into the chair, exhaling a deep sigh of contentment as he did so. "Just one more minute."

"Please, take all the time you feel necessary to adjust."

_Oh, I was planning to._

* * *

"I take it then that you have had no further success?" Graham asked delicately as he swiped his hand over the door control console.

Eli shook his head.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

As they emerged into the corridor, a sudden figure stepped across their path; arm outstretched toward the door control panel.

"Oh!" Woolsey stepped back in his haste to avoid an almost certain collision. "Ah, Sergeant," he said, recovering his balance well, "and Mr. Wallace. Welcome back."

"Mr. Woolsey," Eli said, accepting a proffered hand.

Woolsey then turned to Graham. "I will take it from here, Sergeant. Thank you."

Straightening up, Graham nodded. "Take care, Mr. Wallace." With a curt nod he turned on his heel and walked back into the communication's lab.

"It's a pleasure to meet you again, Eli," Woolsey said. "Though, I had hoped that it was not under such… dire circumstances."

"She's an old ship."

"Indeed, she is." Woolsey nodded. "But, nonetheless, a position you should never have had to place yourself in. None of you, for that matter. Doctor Rush's actions were entirely self-serving, without any regard for you, or anyone else on that ship."

"Well, it's not like there's anything we can do about it now."

There was a pause. A deep hesitation which Eli knew all too well.

"Unfortunately, no," Woolsey said. "However, there has been a recent development which I believe you should be made aware of, and I was wondering if I might have a moment of your time to discuss it before the debriefing."

Concern was quick to fill Eli's thoughts; his brow furrowing. "What kind of development?"

"I believe it would be best if we were to discuss this matter in private. Please, it will only take a few moments of your time."

"What about the debriefing?"

"Believe me, Eli," Woolsey's tone grew serious. "You will wish to hear what I have to say. I assure you."

Eli's brow furrowed further. "Okay."

"If you would follow me, there is an empty laboratory up ahead where we might speak in private."

The lab was empty, and all power save for the lights were out as they walked inside. Small and circular in shape, it consisted of nothing more than three control consoles equally spaced around a cluster of transparent glass tubes situated in a rectangular shaped fixture.

The door closed and, wasting no time, Woolsey asked, "Have you been able to make any progress with the stasis pod?"

"Honestly?"

Despite hearing the truth of the answer in Eli's tone, Woolsey nodded.

"I can't fix it."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm pretty sure." Eli couldn't help but not keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "Look, I wish I had better news for you, but Destiny has been through hell since we came on board, and God only knows what else in the millions of years since her launch. Hell, I'm surprised she's still flying. Even Rush is."

Woolsey closed his eyes, stepping past Eli and breathing a dispirited breath.

"Mr. Woolsey, what's going on?"

Woolsey swallowed lightly, resting a hand on the control console; looking upon the glass tubes before him with a thoughtful expression. Even with Eli's current predicament occupying much of his thoughts, there was something eerily familiar about them – something which he couldn't quite put his finger on. But that would have to wait.

"There are certain members of the IOA who believe that the value of your knowledge far outweighs the sacrifice that you are willing to make in order to fix the stasis chamber."

"What do you mean?"

Woolsey finally turned back. "Do you remember Andrew Covel?"

_Covel?_ Eli thought. "What does he have to do with this?"

"As I am sure you are no doubt aware, Doctor Covel came aboard Destiny a few months ago with Senator Michaels, in order to investigate the signal which the Ancient's discovered within the cosmic microwave background radiation."

"Yeah. But I still don't see what –"

Woolsey broke in, "Upon discovering his own fate due to the severity of the radiation poisoning which he received during the Lucian Alliance attack, Doctor Covel attempted to sabotage the communications stones."

"Can't say he made a lifetime friend in Greer for that."

"Doctor Covel and Senator Michaels died shortly after the disarmament of the naquadria bomb."

"Oh, sorry."

"That's quite alright, Eli," Woolsey said, "but in so doing, Doctor Covel's attempt at sabotaging the communication stones opened up a whole new field of study with regards to their operation. As such, recent studies, taken in conjunction with research from Atlantis' database has confirmed that the transference of consciousnesses can be swapped out indefinitely – even after the long-range communications device has been switched off."

"… even after…"

Woolsey felt an uneasy discomfort pass over him as the revelation became clearer. "I'm sorry, Eli," he said. "But you have my personal assurance that their proposal is just that. A proposal. Nothing more."

"And they can shove it where the sun don't shine, 'cause it aint gunna happen." Eli's tone rose, angrily.

"And you won't. You have General O'Neill's assurance on that. As well as mine," Woolsey added, firmly. "However, I have an alternative which I wanted to run by you before I present it during the debriefing. And believe me, Eli, it is far more preferable to the one being… considered by the IOA."

"What is it?"

"Well, ever since we came into possession of both the Asgard computer core and the Ancient database, we have been able to make tremendous strides in virtually every field of study. However, there is one field of study which the Asgard have researched and studied for thousands of years, and one which I believe may very well be your salvation."

"Go on," Eli said, interested.

"Cloning."

"Wait…" Eli drew back, his eyes widening with surprise. "You want to clone me?"

**CONFERENCE ROOM**

"Mr. Wallace does not have four weeks, Mr. Woolsey," Strom said.

"I am well aware of the time constraints facing Mr. Wallace, Carl," Woolsey said. "However, I find it hard to believe that you would have even considered such a plan. What gives you the right to judge one life's worth over another?"

"Hear, hear," Jack concurred.

"A suitable volunteer has yet to –"

"A suitable volunteer!" Jack's voice rose to a shout. "Do you even hear yourself?!"

"Of course, we would never have pressured Mr. Wallace into anything without his permission."

Jack snorted. "Oh, yeah, like we haven't heard that one before," he sarcastically retorted, narrowing his gaze on Strom. "A certain incident with the Replicators comes to mind."

Strom retained his composure, not allowing himself to rise to Jack's bait as they stared across the table at one another. "And we have already apologised for that incident, General."

"Ah, yes, I remember it fondly."

Woolsey cleared his throat. "I think we are beginning to stray a little bit off topic here," he said. "And I think it is fair to assume that Eli would never have gone through with your proposal."

"Or your own for that matter," Strom replied.

"Actually," Eli broke in, letting his own voice be heard for a change, "I prefer his plan over yours," he said, looking to Strom, "but like you said, I don't have two months."

Jack leaned forward over the desk. "How much time are we talking about here?"

"About forty-six hours," Eli replied.

"Forty-six hours?" Woolsey repeated. "I thought you had over six days before you reach the threshold of your power limitations?"

"Oh, I do, but I'm not risking their lives on my calculations."

"Do you not trust your own calculations?" Strom asked.

"Well, they've served me pretty well so far," Eli said. "Hell, they're what got me onboard Destiny in the first place, but that doesn't mean that I'm willing to stake the lives of the crew on them."

"But surely you would wish to use what little time you have left in order to fix the stasis chamber?"

Eli closed his eyes, drawing in a seething breath. "Have you not been listening to a single word I said?!" he said, his voice breaking with a sudden deep anger. "The pod can't be fixed. Not by me. Not by anyone. Hell, not even the frickin' Ancients could fix that thing. So please, stop asking!"

"Then what are you going to do, Mr. Wallace?" Strom asked, unperturbed by his anger. "If you cannot fix the stasis chamber –"

"Then my options are pretty slim, I know," Eli finished sharply.

"Eli, are you sure that there are no more stasis chambers elsewhere on Destiny?" Woolsey asked.

"Do you really think we'd be having this conversation if there were?"

Overlooking Eli's tone, Woolsey said, "Well, I only ask because, if these figures are to be believed…" He looked down at an open file on the table in front of him. "… then there is definite discrepancy between the number of stasis pods and the number of crew quarters on Destiny."

"Discrepancy?"

"Yes." Woolsey nodded, tracing his pen over both figures on the file. "According to information obtained by Camille Wray, Destiny has crew quarters for approximately one hundred and twenty people."

"Sounds about right," Eli said.

"Then why would they only build eight stasis halls?" Woolsey asked. "I mean, with one pod capable of supporting only one person, why would they build an insufficient number of them if they had originally intended for a larger crew to inhabit the ship?"

The more Woolsey spoke, the more intrigued Eli became as he thought it over for himself. "But if there were more, I'd know about it."

"It does seem an awful waste of space," Jack put in.

Woolsey nodded. "And it stand to reason that the primary purpose of the stasis pods is for the intergalactic jumps."

"Well, obviously," Eli said, "but that still doesn't change what I've read in the database. There are no more pods."

"And we're back to square one," Strom said, speaking up.

"Well, it's not like I left it in the first place," Eli said. "But yeah, back to square one."

"So, there's nothing else you can do?" Jack asked, his voice edged with concern.

"No. Not unless I can find more power for life support…" Eli's voice trailed away as a thought suddenly struck him – and he almost slapped himself for not thinking of it sooner. "Oh my god, the shuttle!"


	2. Lost Sheep

**Milky Way – Earth – San Francisco**

**DAVE SHEPPARD'S BEACH HOUSE**

_Not even a single day_.

Lowering the mornings paper in his hand, Sheppard stared, his mouth agape as he watched McKay stagger, half-asleep down the stairs. _After all these years, you'd think I would have learned by now_, he thought to himself. He knew he had made a mistake the moment he had agreed to it, and here it was coming back to haunt him – and to burn something deeply traumatizing into his memory.

"Uh, McKay…" Sheppard swallowed, pushing his breakfast away. "Do you mind, um… covering up?"

"Huh?" McKay murmured, stifling a yawn.

"Your dressing gown, Rodney. It has a belt for a reason."

McKay's brow furrowed. "Huh?" Then, he looked down. "Wha – oh my god!" With a jolt, he spun away, grasping for both ends of his belts as he did so.

"Commando, huh?" Sheppard joked, grinning from ear to ear as he looked back to the newspaper. He didn't have the stomach to finish his breakfast – not now, anyway. "Didn't think you were one for that sort of thing?"

Feeling the heat rising in his cheeks, McKay attempted to swallow his embarrassment as he tightened and secured his gown. Thankfully, however, with no words to come to his aid and with an empty silence hanging in the air between them, the front door opened.

His face drenched in sweat; his shirt and trousers clinging to his body, Ronon pushed the door shut behind him.

"Ah, hey," Sheppard said, looking up. "Didn't know you were up yet."

"Went for a run."

McKay was taken aback. "In this heat?" His nose wrinkled against the stale stench of his sweat. "It's like ninety degrees out there."

"So?"

"So, you get a good look at the area?" Sheppard asked. "Some pretty nice beaches, am I right?"

Ronon shrugged, wiping the sweat from his face. "They're alright."

"Alright? Are you kidding?" Sheppard was taken aback with apparent insult. "This is one of the finest stretches in all of San Francisco."

"It's nothing I haven't seen before."

"Au contraire. This is San Francisco we're talking about here. We've got surfing, jet skiing, water skiing, volleyball and a ton of other stuff. And that's just out there on the beach."

Ronon's expression merely subsided into a weary frown at the mention of more Earth sports. "That's what you said about golf."

* * *

As he rubbed in the last of the lotion, McKay looked back out over the beach, hoping that he had not missed out on anything good. The discomfort of the heat was already threatening to send him retreating back indoors, but the sight of Sheppard 'attempting' to teach Ronon how to surf was far too tempting to pass up.

Wave after wave ended with wipe out after wipe out – and not to mention a hearty laugh from McKay as he watched from the safe confines of the deck. And whilst not even an hour had yet to pass, he found himself not minding in the slightest. Watching Ronon attempt to surf was entertainment enough to trump anything on TV. As such, the limits of his phone's storage capacity had found itself severely strained by all the videos he had taken of their session; one of which being Ronon's ill-tempered entanglement with a wet suit.

A smile spread over his face as he watched yet another wave overcome the pair, sending them crashing down into the waters. It was such a shame that Jennifer couldn't be here to see it for herself, he reflected, chuckling at Ronon's displeasure. But, much to his own dismay, that was where the fun ended, and he looked on as Ronon threw down his board and come storming back up toward the beach house.

"…"

McKay closed his mouth, deciding against saying anything at all as Ronon stepped up onto the deck. Even under the weight of his glare, it was hard to resist risking a witty remark or two, but he swallowed them down all the same. Unsurprisingly, however, Ronon was not in a talkative mood and walked straight past him and back into the house.

"And you thought I wouldn't get him in the water."

McKay looked back, watching as Sheppard struggled to carry both their surfboards up and onto the deck. "No, I thought you wouldn't get him into that wet suit. The water was pretty much a foregone conclusion at that point."

Sheppard smiled, laughing lightly at the memory as he stored the surfboards away in the rack beside the patio doors. "Well, at least he tried." He then dropped into the seat beside McKay, picking up a beer and taking up a handful of crisps. "Which is more than I can say for some."

"And as I have already told you before, it will be a cold, cold day in hell before I set foot in those waters," McKay said. "A clean and well treated pool, maybe, but that," he said, indicating back out toward the ocean, "not a chance. Honestly, don't you know how dangerous those waters are?"

"Well, sure, there are some dangers out there, but it's called having fun, Rodney. You should really try it sometimes. Hell, you may even get a kick out of it."

"And when I wish to be subjected to rip currents and sharks and all manner of things that infest those waters, I'll be sure to give you a call. But in the meantime, I'm fine right here, thank you very much."

Sheppard took a draught of his beer. There was no point fighting it, he knew. McKay's stubbornness was thicker than the hull of a Hive ship at times, and he had five years-worth of experience to back that up with.

**Milky Way – Earth – Stargate Command**

**BRIEFING ROOM**

There was an atmosphere about the briefing room that had worn its way deep into all those sat around the conference table. All, that is, save for the one sitting on top of it.

"Do you think my hair looks better up?" Vala asked. She was checking herself out with a small, pink, heart-shaped mirror; brushing a hand through her hair.

Mitchell, Teal'c, Reynolds, and the rest of SG-3 were in no hurry to reply. Even Teal'c, as calm and as collected as he appeared to be, seemed less inclined to speak as the silence drew on – even his patience had its limits. Across from his, Bosco slumped further into his chair, once again closing the briefing report on the table in front of him. Teal'c's own lay open before him. With Landry running late, it seemed appropriate to read ahead about the upcoming mission, but that was half an hour ago.

"Anyone?" Vala asked again, looking to the others. "Muscles?"

"Both are aesthetically pleasing, Vala Mal Doran," Teal'c said.

"Ugh," Vala sulked with a childlike demeanour. "You men are useless."

Mitchell, slumped in his seat and staring vacantly out of the window at the Gate Room, drew in a weary breath. "And we apologise. So very, very much."

"And why can't we have Carter back? Can't they find someone else to fly that ship?" Vala continued. "I mean, it's not like it's difficult or anything. Speaking from experience, of course."

There was silence all around, punctuated by a sigh here and there. But, as her lips made to move again, there was a squeak of a handle. They all looked up expectantly, and with bated breath.

Landry walked in. "Sorry to have kept you waiting. The installation of our new power generators are proving to be more trouble than they're worth."

Mitchell straightened, breathing a sigh of relief. "And not a moment too soon, sir."

"Indeed."

Under Landry's disapproving gaze, Vala hopped down from off the table and into her chair.

"By now I can imagine that you have had the time to go over the briefing report," Landry said, sparing a cursory glance at the crumpled file before Vala.

"Looks like some Ori soldiers haven't quite gotten the message that their gods are dead yet," Mitchell said.

"So it would appear," Landry replied, "and based on what little intelligence we have been able to gather, they're leaving a lot of dead bodies in their wake."

"But I thought the Ori armies had already left the galaxy," Vala said, confused. "Didn't the Ark make them all see the error of their ways and send them all back home?"

"And it did, but you have to remember that the Ark only affected the Priors."

"And the Priors are the ones who give all the orders," Mitchell added.

Landry nodded.

"So these guys are what, lost sheep?" Reynolds asked.

"In a manner of speaking, yes," Landry said.

"I take it that reasoning with them is off the table, then?" Bosco said, smirking.

Landry felt no need to answer that.

"In all aspects, the soldiers of the Ori are not too dissimilar to Jaffa," Teal'c put in. "From birth they are indoctrinated with the belief that the Ori are Gods, and the demonstration of their powers through the Priors only serves to enforce their own divinity. It will not be easy to dissuade them from their current course of actions."

"But if this incursion happened yesterday, how certain are we that the Ori soldiers are still on… P7R-222?" Mitchell said, looking back up from the report. "For all we know, they could have moved on to another planet already."

"According to intelligence provided to us by the Jaffa High Council, the Ori soldiers are still pressing their assault against the local population," Landry said. "You see, a convoy of cargo ships were trading with the locals when the incursion began and were able to alert the High Council."

"Then why aren't the Jaffa dealing with it?" Mooney asked. "Why are we getting involved?"

"P7R-222 is an independent system," Teal'c said. "We – as in the Free Jaffa – can only intervene with the express permission of the local legislative body."

"And they said no?!" Mooney was incredulous – and he was not alone.

"You can't be serious?" Reynolds said.

There was a pause, with Teal'c drawing in and then exhaling a seemingly disgruntled breath. "Unfortunately, the High Council has decided against providing aid to the planets inhabitants."

Expressions around the table relaxed as they heard this.

Baker shook his head. "You know, for a bunch of _honourable _and _courageous_ warriors, they sure do like avoiding fights."

Mitchell looked to Teal'c. "Let me guess… Traditionalists?"

Teal'c nodded. "Their influence and political gains have once more secured them with the necessary votes to pass resolutions in their favour."

"We could always ask Tomin for help," Vala suggested. "They are Ori soldiers after all. He could easily order them all to stand down."

"And Tomin is in another galaxy, millions of light years away. We don't have the time to sit around and wait for help that might not come, and neither do the people of P7R-222," Landry said, his tone serious. "Now, one of our covert intelligence operatives has been deployed ahead of your departure."

"Yes, this… Agent Lennox," Mitchell said, looking back to the personnel file before him.

Lennox's personnel file had been of particular interest to them all, with a service history which rivalled even that of General O'Neill himself.

* * *

**S.G.C. PERSONNEL FILE**

Full Name: Brian James Lennox

Date of Birth: June 16th, 1961

Place of Birth: London, United Kingdom

**Military Service History:**

**British Army: 1979 – 1997**

Infantry: 1979 – 1984

Intelligence Corps: 1984 – 1993

Special Air Service: 1993 – 1997

Operation Joint Endeavour: 1995 – 1996

Operation Tango: 1997

Rank: Sergeant

**Deployments:**

Gulf War: 1991

Bosnian War: 1992 – 1993

**Awards and Decorations:**

George Cross

Distinguished Service Order

Military Cross

Conspicuous Gallantry Cross

Queen's Commendation for Bravery

Gulf Medal

Mentioned in Dispatches (4)

Accumulated Campaign Service Medal

Medal for Long Service and Good Conduct

**Military Intelligence – MI5**

Recruited: August 5th, 1998

Departure: November 23rd, 2008

* * *

Landry nodded. "He was part of a specialist operations unit which was being trained to infiltrate the Ori forces during the Crusade. They were to conduct intelligence gathering and to carry out any potential acts of sabotage."

"I heard about them," Reynolds said. "I don't recall them ever being deployed though."

"That's because they weren't. The Crusade ended before we even got the chance to put them to use," Landry said. "Following the withdrawal of the Ori forces they were all reassigned to other operations; mostly with regards to our current conflict with the Lucian Alliance."

"Well, if he's half as good as he is on paper, the Ori aren't gunna know what hit 'em," Baker quipped.

"But even then, just how in the hell does he expect to infiltrate them in the first place?" Mitchell asked. "I mean, it's not like you can just strap on their armour and be welcomed into the fold."

"And SG-19 found that out the hard way," Vala said.

"Telepathy's a bitch," Mitchell remarked, recalling the incident for himself.

"But the Ori soldiers are not commanded by a Prior," Teal'c said.

"Exactly." Landry nodded. "Now, an hour ago we received a subspace communique from Agent Lennox, informing us that he has successfully infiltrated the Ori force and that we are clear to proceed with the mission. So, I want you all geared up and ready to move out. Dismissed."

**Milky Way – P7R-222**

**THE STARGATE**

Mitchell swallowed; his nostrils flaring as the smoke and ash threatened to overwhelm him. It stirred and whirled around him, with wisps of ash and embers trailing about through the air before his eyes as Teal'c and Vala passed through the gate beside him. He rubbed at his eyes, squinting into the haze as SG-3 and the marine combat unit assigned to them began to fan out, forming a basic perimeter around the Stargate.

"Well –" Vala coughed. "I think we've got the right place."

"Indeed."

Stepping down from off the platform, Mitchell took a breath as he looked toward the north. Beyond the woods to their front, bitter plumes of smoke rose up all across the horizon; blotting out the mornings sun and casting the land before them into shadow. _Are we too late?_ To speculate was a painful thought, which would only but add to those which currently occupied him. But even that was something which could not be put aside so easily.

It was a wide and treeless place for the most part, dispersed with but a few tall oaks and elms here and there as they further observed the landscape before them. And they didn't have to go far before they came across the first clear signs of battle.

Scorch marks and craters of impacts large and small were in great abundance, littered across much of the open plain before them; with some still hot and smoking.

"A great battle was fought here," Teal'c said. Be it by staff weapon or the Ori equivalent, he could not guess, but the size and scope of some of them were indeed worrisome.

"No kidding." Mitchell whistled, the same thoughts crossing his own mind, branching into the Death Gliders and Alkesh category.

"I think a lot of battles have been fought here," Vala said, scratching at the ground with her shoe. The small patch of burnt soil loosened beneath her heel, revealing naught but more of the same.

"Indeed."

Lightly drumming his fingers on the side of his rifle, Mitchell nodded, looking down upon a patch of undried blood, pooling dark and bright red at his feet. And there was more, much more as he looked over the ground about them. But there was also something else – something he was missing. Something obvious.

"Colonel Mitchell."

Mitchell looked back and found Bosco standing by the Stargate; a handkerchief covering his mouth and nose. Wisps of thick black smoke – thicker and far darker than what they had just surveyed upon the horizon – rose, curling into the air at his back. He lowered his hand, his expression clouded with anxiety.

"Mooney and I, we… we've found something."

Mitchell set off almost at once, his pace quickening with each step. That was it, he knew. It was instinctual; a gut feeling given voice by Bosco's disquieting manner as he brought the handkerchief back up to cover his mouth.

"So, what have you…"

And there Mitchell looked upon a great mound; burned carcases piled in great heaps with naught living save for carrion crows picking through the remains. The ashes were still hot and smoking and a dry gasp escaped him, echoing that of Vala's own as she drew up alongside, and he had to fight to keep his lunch from coming back up as its odious fume met him.

But beside him, Vala was overcome, recoiling at the smell; bile rising in her throat. It was a pungent odour; born of burnt and rotten flesh, and one which had haunted her dreams for many years. She turned away, unable to stomach the smell or the sight of the bodies any longer… and vomited all over Bosco's boots.

"Eurgh!" Bosco cursed, stepping back as Vala's lunch splashed all up his legs. "Not again!"

"I fear we are too late, Colonel Mitchell," Teal'c said.

No matter how much he wished it not to be, Mitchell found it hard not to concur as he took in more of the atrocity before them. Flesh and metal had melded, with armour and mail, staff weapons and zats and many other gears of war having fused under the intense heat of the fire set upon the mound. He closed his eyes against it, putting a hand to his mouth, swallowing convulsively as the twisted, mutilated forms of both men and women became too much to bear to look upon.

But Vala had seen too much, detaching herself and walking as far away from the pit as she could get; trying to put it from her mind. It did not help. All it did was further dig up the memories of her past; memories of which she would very much rather be rid of entirely. And it was here, dabbing at the tears welling in her eyes, that she came across something else entirely.

Graves. Ori graves.

They numbered twenty-seven in total; two rows freshly dug. She had not seen this before. No one had. Staff weapons adorned each in ceremonious fashion, Vala noted as she drew nearer, laid down the middle of the grave. An easy theft for looters – and a small fortune to the right buyer for Ori weaponry. But as she approached the first grave, something caught her eye at its base. A small, square piece of marble. Each grave held their own.

**HERE LIES**

**ANSEL**

**SON OF**

**TAAVI AND THELA**

**VER KEL**

At least her lessons in the Ancient language with Daniel counted for something.

"And what do we have here?"

Crouched over the grave with the piece of marble cupped in her hand, Vala looked up as Mitchell's shadow fell over her.

"Graves," Teal'c said, stepping up to Mitchell's side.

"They had time for this?" Bosco said.

"So it would seem."

Mitchell shrugged. "Hell, they found the time to clear an entire battlefield. Why not?" With that he looked back over to Vala. "So, what does it say?"

"Well, if my Ancient is correct: Here lies Ansel, son of Taavi and Thela. Ver Kel."

"Ver Kel?"

"It's the village where he is from," Vala said. "Like Tomin is from Ver Isca –"

Mitchell's radio crackled. "Colonel Mitchell, this is Reynolds. Come in, over."

"What's up?" Mitchell said.

"We found something."

* * *

No one said a word as they walked back toward the Stargate. The settlement afire on the horizon. The battlefield around the Stargate. The mound of bodies. The Ori graves. Scarcely ten minutes had gone by in all that time; so what was in store for them next was anyone's guess.

Stepping past the Stargate and back onto the main road, they could see that Reynolds, Baker and the marine combat unit had pressed on toward the woods. With the perimeter to their east, west and south secured, it seemed natural to move on and further secure their beachhead.

"So, what have we got this time?" Mitchell asked.

Standing at the woods edge, just off from where the main road disappeared into its depths, Reynolds and Baker turned back.

"A Guardian Angel is what," Baker said.

Reynolds nodded his agreement as Mitchell looked to him.

"What's a Guardian Angel?" Vala said.

"An Earth superstition," Teal'c said, "based around the concept of a supernatural being offering protection and guidance to –"

"Oh, you mean like the Chashanari spirits of Tauseer?"

Three voices spoke out as one in reply. "The what?"

"The Chashanari spirits of Tauseer," she repeated – much to their bemused expressions. "Oh, please. Don't tell me you haven't heard of them?"

"The galaxy's a big old place, Vala. We just haven't gotten around to seeing as much of it as you have," Mitchell said. "But –"

"Well, on Tauseer, there's the Great Pyramid of Chashanari; one of the largest pyramids in the galaxy –"

"But," Mitchell broke in firmly, "that's a story for another day… I think," he said before looking back to Reynolds. "So, what have you found?"

Reynolds turned, jerking his head toward where one of the marines stood, just a few meters inside the woods to their front. "You've gotta see it to believe it."

"A trench?"

* * *

All about them, the woods formed an almost perfect concealment, with Vala almost stumbling into it by the loose soil which skirted its edge. It weaved here and there throughout the trees, broken only by the main road to where it continued on the other side. But even here, the clear signs of battle were in clear and fresh abundance; the impact craters sweeping up from the Stargate, falling upon the trenches. Scorch marks of staff weapons fire scarred the trunks and the branches of the trees, painting them almost black; several fallen here and there.

But, as Mitchell looked down into the trench, the more he saw, the more he could not understand how a relatively small force of Ori soldiers – approximately two hundred men by Jaffa intelligence – could have overcame it. He could see at least four broken and destroyed staff cannon emplacements, as well as the remnants of other gears of war – staff weapons, zats, shock grenades and Tacs – littering the ground up and down the trench; a worthy arsenal in and of itself.

Mitchell shook his head. "We're damned lucky that no one was lying in wait for us. We'd have been sitting ducks out in the open like that."

"Indeed," Teal'c said, crouched and examining the trench. "Even so, with such a fortification as this in place, I find it difficult to believe that the Ori soldiers could have prevailed, and with such few casualties."

Reynolds nodded. "Even we'd have trouble fighting our way past all this without a casualty or two."

"Or three, four, five, six…" Vala continued

_Or all_, Mitchell thought to himself, muttering silent thanks to the hefty budget of Stargate Command's M.A.L.P. Program.

"It's pretty much the same layout on the other side there," Reynolds said, indicating to the other side of the road. "A bit longer than this one and with a few more weapon emplacements, but –"

"Well, unless they had a Prior with 'em, I don't see how they could have fought their whole way through this," Baker said. "Not with their weapons. No way."

"Well, they did… somehow," Mitchell said.

* * *

The signpost looked to have been cast aside many years ago, with moss and tangled roots hugging it tightly to the ground before Teal'c pulled it away.

**VILLAGE OF RHIMETH – 2 MILES**

"Rhimeth?" Vala repeated.

Teal'c brushed away the remaining foliage and dirt, but the Goa'uld script read the same for him as well. "Have you been here before, Vala Mal Doran?"

"What planet hasn't she been to?" came Bosco's sarcastic response, looking back up from the trench beside where the signpost had fallen.

Seeming to overlook his comment, Vala slowly nodded. "Yes… yes, I have. This planet is Aurelia."

"Aurelia?" Teal'c repeated. There was recognition there.

Vala nodded again, assured of her answer.

"You two got something you want to share with the class?" Mitchell asked.

Placing the signpost back down on the ground, Teal'c looked up, nodding, "It is a world from an old Jaffa tale, Colonel Mitchell."

"An old Goa'uld tale, more like," Vala said, her voice lifting with a touch of enthusiasm. "I mean, this is Aurelia. _The Aurelia_," she said again with further enthusiasm. "Gods, this planet has been the cause of more wars among the Goa'uld than their own bad manners. Honestly, even Dakara's got nothing on this place."

Mitchell looked to Teal'c.

"It is true that many battles have been fought over this planet," he said, understanding Mitchell's look for clarification. "Apophis himself committed many ships to the task long before even Master Bra'tac's ascension to First Prime. It is to my understanding that he did not hold it for long."

"No one does," Vala said. "I mean, this planet has changed hands more times than I can count – and by that, I mean several times a year, going back over a millennium."

Mitchell whistled – one echoed by both Reynolds and Baker. "That's one hell of a turf war."

"Certainly one for the record books," Baker said.

"Guinness or universal?" Reynolds joked.

Mitchell grinned at the remark, looking back to Vala as he did so. "So what's so special about this planet, then?"

"Well, if rumours are to be believed, this planet once belonged to the Goa'uld Ptah."

"Who?"

"Ptah," Teal'c said, pronouncing it with a softer 't'. "He was a Goa'uld scientist of much renown."

"One of their best," Vala said. "Pretty much every piece of their technology can be traced back to him."

"So what are we talking about here, a Goa'uld equivalent of Einstein?" Reynolds asked.

For once, Vala understood that reference, nodding her head.

"Then how come we've never heard of him?" Mitchell asked.

"He disappeared many thousands of years ago," Teal'c replied. "Most believe him to be dead."

"Yeah, well, those Goa'uld can be slippery little bastards at times," Mitchell said. "Remember Anubis? Everyone thought he was dead and then, boom, he rears his ugly, non-corporeal head and nearly takes over the galaxy."

"It is possible," Teal'c said.

"But doubtful," Vala said. "I mean, Ptah designed almost every ship in their service. The Ha'tak. Alkesh. Tel'tak. Death Gliders. Troop ships. Even those silly little needle threaders. If there were any weaknesses or design flaws, he could have easily defeated the other System Lords."

"If that's the case, then why didn't he?" Reynolds asked. "It's not exactly in their nature to hold back on one another – advantages or not."

"The prevailing theory is that he was eventually tracked down and defeated by Ra," Teal'c said.

"Okay, so this Ptah guy's a genius, but what's so special about this planet?" Mitchell asked. "Other than hosting the longest running turf war in the history of the galaxy, that is?"

"Well, it is believed that this planet is home to one of Ptah's research facilities," Vala said.

"That's it?"

"That's it?" Vala repeated, sounding almost affronted. "Every Goa'uld in history has been looking for that research facility. I myself spent the better part of a month mapping out every square inch of this planet from orbit, and I found nothing."

"So you wanted his research?"

"Who wouldn't?" Vala said. "His research is worth more than you could possibly imagine. I mean, where do you think the Goa'uld got their technology in the first place?"

"The Ancients," Teal'c said.

"Exactly, and I don't think I need to tell you how much people are willing to pay for Ancient tech. Even that stone tablet I had was worth a small fortune to the right –"

And then, "So, this is the famous, SG-1."

**A few minutes earlier…**

Despite the many warnings and subsequent scolding which he had received as a child at the hands of his stepfather, climbing trees had once been one of Lennox's favourite pastimes. Buildering too came pretty close – garnering himself an expulsion in the process from retrieving one too many footballs from the school roof. But it was only upon his entry into the military that a far wider variety of climbing related activities became available to him: bouldering, lead climbing, mountaineering and ice climbing to name a few.

From his spot high up in the tree, he could see all and hear all beneath him as SG-1 and SG-3 continued to converse. _Amateurs_, he thought, shaking his head. _Guardian Angels, and now this_. It would all be reflected in his report. Despite their heroic exploits and endeavours, they were sloppy and careless in many regards – at least from his own perspective. But despite himself, even he had to admit that Vala's story was interesting enough. That, this seemingly insignificant planet had a history which could hold root with the early foundations of the Goa'uld Empire – if Vala's intelligence turned out to be accurate, of course – could be of great benefit to Earth. But now was not the time for such tales; nor was it the appropriate time to stop and talk.

Only the marine combat unit seemed to be taking their job seriously, taking cautious and measured approaches to the woods at their front – and the woods at their back too.

Craning his head out but a touch more, he further ignored the discomfort of the armour. It wore heavy and uncomfortable in places; even more so than the assortment of body armours and equipment which he had worn in the past. He need not worry, he knew, for the tree was so big that it could have hidden several others amidst its branches. But he had no time to waste, and neither did the inhabitants of the settlement.

He made no sound as he climbed back down. Even in the armour, he had the lithe grace of an acrobat about him, deftly skipping from branch to branch before dropping himself lightly to the ground.

_Right_, he thought to himself. _Time to introduce myself._

"So, this is the famous, SG-1."

* * *

Not a single bullet flew out in response. Lennox's brow rose at that. _Well, at least they have their trigger discipline_.

* * *

Having dropped to a knee in a low stance, Mitchell exchanged an odd look with Teal'c and Vala beside him. He could see the same question on both their lips. _How in the hell did he get so close?__How did we not see him?_

"Who goes there?" Teal'c called out. "Identify yourself."

With over a dozen rifles trained upon the single tree, Mitchell doubted very much that whoever resided behind it would – lest an accidental bullet find them first.

"Authentication code, Tango, Tango, Whisky, Delta, Six."

_Lennox?_ Mitchell lowered his rifle slightly, recognising the passcode challenge. "Sierra, Uniform, Victor, Alfa, Seven."

Lennox stepped out where they could see him.

"Agent Lennox, I presume?" Teal'c said, lowering his own rifle as the others did the same.

"The one and only," Lennox nodded in reply. "And I've gotta say, folks, I'm a little unimpressed."

Mitchell's brow drew together. _And it's a pleasure to meet you too_.

"It should never be that easy to catch an SG team with their pants down, Colonel," Lennox said as he drew up beside them, "least of all three of them," he added, "and my report will reflect that."

"Oh, please, that's nothing," Vala broke in with a light laugh. "There was this one time when –"

"Believe me, Mrs. Mal Doran," Lennox cut her off; his tone firm, "I am more than familiar with the various inadequacies of the SG teams under Stargate Command, but I have neither the time nor the patience to waste on that right now, and the people that live here certainly don't."

Again, Mitchell didn't allow himself to rise to the bait of Lennox's words – and neither, he saw, did anyone else – but even he had to admit that there was at least some truth to them. Taken unawares by a single man – and by one of their own, no less.

"So," Mitchell began, clearing his throat lightly, "what's the situation here?"

"Well, as you know, as of 1540 hours yesterday afternoon, an Ori force…"

* * *

"What do you mean, they're gone?"

"As the word implies, Colonel, they're not here," Lennox said. "The village was deserted by the time the Ori soldiers arrived."

"Then they must have gotten off-world already," Vala said.

Lennox shook his head. "Then why leave men behind to guard the Stargate?"

"Perhaps the cargo ships offered a course of escape?" Teal'c suggested.

"For some, perhaps, but not for all," Lennox replied. "The village is far too large for them to have all been evacuated."

"How many are we talking about here?" Mitchell asked.

"Two thousand, maybe more," Lennox said.

"And they're still looking?"

"All those who reject the path to enlightenment must be destroyed."

**Milky Way – Aurelia**

**VILLAGE OF RHIMETH**

Ash and embers choked the very air about them as they looked out toward the village from the relative safety of the treeline. Following the road up toward the village with his binoculars, Mitchell slowly surveyed the wide swathe of destruction which had opened up before them at the woods edge. The fields were a charred desolation. The orchards were all but burnt to a crisp. The carcasses of butchered animals littered the ground; carrion for crows.

"This was the work of Commander Saris," Lennox had told them. "He declared it forfeit for their desertion and cowardice."

But, sitting high above it all; untouched by the fire with not a single building having been put to the torch, was the village of Rhimeth. A wide and open market square, about the size of a football field, served as its entrance, with a single massive obelisk of white stone at its heart. Wagons and oxcarts filled much of its space, loaded with sacks of grains and seeds, bushels of straw and hay, and crates loaded with other goods – some of which were of Goa'uld origin for the storage of weapons and other technologies. And it was here where they spied their first glimpse of the enemy.

"And there they are," Mitchell half-whispered to himself.

"There's about a dozen from what I can make out," Reynolds said, watching as a small group of soldiers helped themselves to a few casks from one of the wagons.

"That we can see."

"About a third of the force is here, either spread out on patrol in the village or treating their wounded," Lennox said, "but the rest are out with Commander Saris as he conducts the search parties in the outer fields."

"So the village is clear, then?"

"Two thousand people would be a hard thing to miss, Colonel," Lennox replied. "However, I have been able to identify one thing which may be to our advantage here."

"Such as?"

"Well," Lennox began, "as surprising as it would seem, that would be Mrs. Mal Doran, here."

"Me?" Vala said.

"Her?" Mitchell and Reynolds said together.

Lennox nodded, looking to Vala. "As I understand it, this is not your first visit to this planet." It was not a question. "Whatever insights you may possess could prove useful in locating the people that lived here."

"That was a long, long time ago," Vala said.

"And three weeks is a long, long time to spend in orbit of a planet performing sensor scans of its entire surface," Lennox said. "Now, do you really expect me to believe that you endured all of that –"

"And that was still a long, long time ago," Vala broke in, her voice rising higher. "I think my intelligence is going to be a little bit outdated, don't you?"

Mitchell broke in before Lennox could counter her retort. "She has a point, Lennox. Nothing we do here is going to aid the villagers – not unless we find them first, and without a ship in orbit as support, our chances of that are as slim as theirs are right now."

"Then what would you suggest?"

* * *

"He's a hard-ass son of a bitch, Colonel – and a devout one at that," Lennox said as he readjusted the straps of his armour. "He's even been known to burn his own men alive on occasion."

The shock was plain on all their faces. Vala simply flinched.

"You mean…"

"Believe me, it's…" Lennox swallowed, his own expression falling as he looked to Vala; a painful memory reflected in her eyes. He shook his head. "It's not something you're like to get used to, and I've witnessed my fair share of atrocities in service to the Crown."

"At the very least it is good to know that your training did not entirely go to waste," Teal'c said.

"What little of it we received, yes," Lennox replied. He then shrugged. "But, to tell the truth, I've had harder assignments than this one. I was pretty much welcomed into the fold just by stepping through the gate. Hell, I've had a harder time dealing with insurgents in the Gulf."

"So, do you really think you'll be able to draw them out for us?" Reynolds asked.

"Commander Saris has been considering the possibility of a counter-attack ever since they arrived, and with the Free Jaffa cargo ships trading at the village square –"

"So he's expecting Jaffa?" Mitchell said.

Lennox nodded.

Vala snorted. "Well, he doesn't seem to have prepared very much," she said, looking back out over the market square; to where the Ori soldiers were continuing to drink and eat to their heart's content as they pillaged the spoils even further.

"Appearances can be deceiving, Mrs. Mal Doran," Lennox said. "You see, Commander Saris and all those men down there are still operating under the assumption that their outer defences; primarily those centred around the Stargate and these here woods, are still in play."

"What defences?"

"Exactly," Lennox said, simply. "Oh, and I'll be needing this too." And with that, he reached out and tore off the SGC patch from Teal'c's arm. He then drew in a breath and nodded to Mitchell. "Well, here goes nothing."

* * *

"And check your targets, guys. If we hit Lennox, the IOA'll never let us hear the end of it," Mitchell said, clicking his radio off.

A chorus of acknowledgements followed in reply.

"Well, if he's stupid enough to put himself on the front line," Vala put in.

"Given his assumed rank as Firstman in the Ori army, Agent Lennox does not have a choice in the matter. His duty requires it," Teal'c replied.

"And he'll be the only one out there without a helmet on," Mitchell said, looking down at the Ori helmet beside him. "So again, check your targets."

"Should be the only one without a helmet on," Vala rephrased. "Some of those boys down there look like they can't tell their asses from their elbows."

"All the better for us," Mitchell said. "If that Saris fella is as… pious as he appears to be, then –"

And then the moment arrived, and there was Lennox, running off down the main road toward the village; a panic-stricken air about him.

"And here we go."

* * *

A shiver went through Lennox at the first few steps. Not for the plan. His own insights had seen off his own initial doubts. But it was with the Ori soldiers where his doubts lay. They were not professionals. Not in the slightest. That much had been evident the moment he had stepped through the Stargate. They had acknowledged the armour; not the man, and it had only been thanks to his training – as short-lived as it had been – that had seen him through Commander Saris' interrogation.

And, as he knew they would be, the soldiers were slow in their response. Not even the buildings either side of the entrance to the market square were manned by lookouts. _Amateurs_, he thought, again. It had been a mere two-hundred-meter run to the village and he had almost made it all the way before being spotted. Drinks and food were thrown aside in haphazard fumbles for weapons. Some helmets were forgotten in the attempt, but a defence was – to his surprise – formed at the entrance.

"Firstman Alder," one of the soldiers called out, stepping out from behind a wagon. He lowered his staff weapon; signalling for the others to do the same.

"Salen," Lennox said with a false and laboured breath. "Where's the Commander?"

"He's directing the search parties. Why? What happened?"

"We… we were attacked, back at the portal!" Lennox feigned laboured breathing.

"Who? Who was it?"

"Just get the Commander. Move!"

Without the slightest hesitation, Salen turned and left, running through the market and off out of sight through one of its side-streets.

"Who was it? Who attacked you?" another soldier, Oswyn asked.

Resting his staff weapon against the wagon, Lennox shook his head, moving past Oswyn to splash some water in his face from a nearby bucket of the ground. "I don't know, but they weren't… they weren't Jaffa. That much I know."

"Then who –"

"Well, don't just stand there!" Lennox said, his voice rising to a shout. "Get into positions and watch that treeline."

At his instruction, wagons and carts were moved into defensive positions at the entrance, their wares tipped out all over the square. It would not stand up at all to bullets and staff blasts. But if all went according to plan, it wouldn't have to.

"And what of the villagers, Ellard," he said as they both tipped a cart onto its side together. "Have we made any progress?"

"They continue to elude our search parties, but the Commander believes that it will not be long before they are forced to give themselves up."

Lennox nodded. "Good. The sooner these unbelievers are dealt with the better. All those who reject the path deserve nothing else."

"Firstman Alder, report!"

_Saris_, Lennox thought, recognising the sharpness of the tone of voice. He turned, standing to attention as Commander Saris and a few dozen men marched across the square toward them.

"Commander!"

"You lost the portal."

Lennox exhaled a breath and then nodded. "The men held their positions for as long as they –"

"I'm sure they did," Saris said, studying him closely. "Do we know by whom?"

Lennox shook his head. "Of that, I don't know. They were quite unlike anyone I have previously engaged in battle before. But I was…" He then reached into the small pouch strapped to his thigh. "… I was able to recover this from one of the bodies." He drew out the SGC patch he had taken from Teal'c, passing it over to Saris. "I've never seen anything like it before."

Commander Saris regarded the badge with great interest as Lennox handed it over.

"Earth," Firstman Toroq – Saris' second in command – said, standing next to him.

Saris nodded, his brown eyes glinting with a hint of recognition. "Before the attack began," he said, looking up at Lennox, "did anything else come through the portal?"

Lennox furrowed his brow and then he nodded. "Why yes," he said. "Yes, something did come through the portal. It was a machine of some sort. Why? What's the significance?"

"Firstman Toroq," Saris said.

"Yes, Commander."

"Recall the men."

* * *

"And now, with the strength of our will, they do call upon us to prevail against the corruption of all unbelievers," Saris said, and with that, he closed his copy of the Book of Origin. "Hallowed are the Ori."

"Hallowed are the Ori," Lennox and the other soldiers chanted in unison.

From what he could tell, in the short time in which Commander Saris had droned on and on, chanting from the Book of Origin, almost a hundred men had formed up, having been recalled from the surrounding countryside. It would have to do, he knew. There was nothing else for it. They had to be stopped, and this was the only way. For men as incorruptible and as devout in their beliefs that the Ori were Gods, there was no possible course of action which could deter them otherwise.

"Move out!"

* * *

Mitchell swallowed hard, watching as more Ori soldiers continued to join the force that had assembled in the marketplace. He had lost count at a hundred, almost half of that which Lennox had claimed to be their total number. He took a breath, thinking on the order he would eventually have to give. Husbands, fathers and sons, all, never to see home again.

"I've lost track of Agent Lennox. Does anyone have eyes on?" Mooney asked aver the radio.

"I got him," Mitchell replied quietly. "Third wagon from the left. No helmet."

Book of Origin in hand and having taken a knee with the other soldiers around him, Lennox had his head bowed low in respect with the others.

"If they're in prostration, we may be here for a while, you know," Vala said. Then, she added, "A long, long, long, long while."

"Such a thing would be counterproductive with the threat of attack imminent," Teal'c said.

Mitchell nodded. "Most likely they're consolidating their forces for 'said' attack," he said, watching as more groups entered the square.

"I agree," Teal'c said.

Teal'c's own count had risen above a hundred and twenty, and then thirty. And yet, even more continued to flow in from the surrounding fields.

And then, the Ori began to move out.

"Alright, boys and girls, here we go," Mitchell said into his radio as the Ori began a quick march through Lennox's unfinished fortifications. "Open fire on my order only."

Another chorus of acknowledgements were his reply, and Mitchell swallowed again, drawing in a breath as he checked his G36K one last time. It was not the way he had wished it to be, but there was no other recourse. Reason was off the table entirely. Tomin and the Doci were of no help in a galaxy far, far away. And as much as he would like to beam them all away with Asgard transporters, there was no ship to spare at this time.

"I have eyes on Lennox," Baker said over the radio.

"As do I," Teal'c said.

"He's a few meters in on the right-hand side," Baker continued.

Looking across, Mitchell was quick to take note of Agent Lennox, who was without his helmet, as he had promised – and his only way of distinguishing himself from the others. "Alright, folks, you heard the man. Lennox knows the plan, so if he manages to come out of this bullet-free, drinks are on me tonight."

"And if not, at least we won't have to worry about him writing that report," Vala quipped.

Mitchell closed his eyes, feeling the seconds dragging on until he would have to give the order. With a hundred or so deaths lingering on his word, it was a heavy burden to bear, but weighed against the men, women and children who called this planet home, it was one he could live with. Then, embracing the choice, he opened his eyes. "Open fire."


	3. Back to Pegasus

**Unknown Galaxy – Destiny**

**SHUTTLE**

With one last great effort of will, Eli forced the Kino sled into the shuttle, finally and at last clearing the airlock doors. His arms and legs trembled from the weight of it all, built up over dozens of trips back and forth throughout the ship. It was the last of the food supplies; the last of the ships freshly grown produce, two boxes of tinned goods recovered from the Novus colony, seven boxes of supplies from the Novus fallout bunker, and the last few crates of food which the Lucian Alliance had brought through with them.

Sleep clouded his senses as he stood there, clutching the Kino sled; his breathing hard. Like a shadow it hung over him, pressing down on him with each and every step he took. Had it not been for the furious beat of his heart and the resultant pulsations coursing throughout his body, sleep would have taken him within moments. He almost laughed. Sleep had never come easily to him on Destiny before. Nor for anyone else on the ship, for that matter. But over this past week, he fought against it for as long as he could – even surpassing the endurance of Colonel Telford.

But sleep would have to hold off for a little while longer, he knew. There was still work to be done – the first of which being, closing the shuttle door. There was just one obstacle toward that end. He had to get there first. In his sleep deprived stupor, he had filled every nook and cranny of the shuttle; subsequently blocking his access to shuttle door controls.

**SOME TIME LATER…**

Dropping into the pilot's chair, he exhaled a long and deeply satisfying breath as the shuttle doors shut. And then, at last surrendering himself to it, Eli put his feet up on the console and closed his eyes, allowing sleep to finally claim him.

**Pegasus – M3T-791 – High Orbit, U.S.S. Apollo**

**BRIDGE**

"Have Sergeant Henley and his team see to it," Ellis said to Major Cooper, his helmsman. "And inquire as to whether Doctor Simmons has made any progress clearing up the sensors in grid sector six. He's already twenty minutes overdue for his report."

"Yes, sir," Cooper said as she turned back to her console.

Ellis looked back down at his tablet, updating the status in his ships log.

"Colonel, we have received confirmation from Beta Site Operations Control that Colonel Sheppard and his team are ready for transport," Captain Harper said.

Ellis nodded. "Go ahead, Captain," he said, pushing himself up and out of his chair.

Promptly, Sheppard, McKay and Ronon were beamed up before Ellis as he stood. "Colonel. Doctor. Ronon," he said. "Welcome aboard."

"Colonel," Sheppard said, finding himself alone in his reply.

"So, how was quarantine, gentlemen?"

"Well, I would have much preferred to wake up and continue to enjoy the view from my beach house... but orders are orders," Sheppard said.

"That they are," Ellis agreed, nodding his understanding.

"But hey," Sheppard shrugged, "at least quarantine wasn't too bad this time around. They actually gave us something better than puzzle books and videos to keep us entertained whilst we were down there."

McKay took a deep shuddering breath, rubbing the left side of his neck as he did so. "That's not what I would call entertainment. Honestly, I may need therapy after what I endured in there."

Ellis's brow furrowed. "Therapy?" he repeated, confused.

"Well, given all the time we had to kill, we –"

A little too theatrically, McKay cleared his throat.

Ignoring him, Sheppard continued. "– we thought we would try our hand at a few of those virtual reality training programs..."

**Pegasus – M3T-791 – Beta Site**

**24 HOURS EARLIER...**

At first glance, it seemed as though they had taken a U-turn mid-transit, with Sheppard, McKay and Ronon all somewhat taken aback as they stepped through the Stargate.

Standing at the foot of the ramp in anticipation of their arrival, Colonel Brooks grinned, watching as their hesitation almost threatened to cause a pile-up with the other personnel that were coming through the Stargate at their backs. The Beta Site embarkation room was so alike with that of Stargate Command's that even he had confused the two from time to time. Nonetheless, he said nothing as they began to step off the ramp to stand before him. Besides Sheppard, McKay and Ronon, he was expecting an additional seventy other personnel to arrive – far more than he had ever accepted at any one time since his tenure as base commander began some two months prior.

As the Stargate shut down at their backs, Brooks cleared his throat, ready to address the assembled group before him. "Good afternoon, and may I be the first to welcome you here to the Beta Site.

"Now, as I am sure you are well aware, a strict twenty-four-hour quarantine has been put into effect for anyone passing between both the Milky Way and Pegasus galaxies. As such, during your time here, you will be subjected to three medical screenings – the first of which will take place shortly after your induction to the base has ended. The second will take place twelve hours after that, with the final screening determining whether or not you will be cleared to continue on to the Alpha Site."

A murmur of comment rose, and a voice from the back called out, "And if not?"

Brooks was quick to find the man who spoke, taking note of the heads that turned his way. "Then you will be held here until our doctors can assess the severity of your affliction."

"And then what?" the man asked again.

"Well, depending on their assessment, you will either be cleared to continue on to the Alpha Site, or you will be sent back to Earth," Brooks said, sensing a touch of frustration in his tone. But it was to be expected, he knew. "But not to worry," Brooks continued with a positive tone as he spoke to them all, "we have yet to face anything more serious than your common cold, so we should have you through to the Alpha Site in no time."

Brooks flicked his gaze back to the man – an Italian given the patch on the left arm of his jacket – but he seemed satisfied enough with the reply and spoke no more. "Now," he began, indicating to an Officer standing just behind him on his left, "Major Harris here has the task of overseeing your induction."

Major Harris nodded, smiling back as all eyes turned his way.

* * *

"Colonel Sheppard," Brooks said, stepping closer as the other personnel began to filter out of the room for their induction with Major Harris.

"So, this is quarantine central then?" Sheppard said, adjusting the strap of his sports bag from digging into his shoulder.

"That it is," Brooks said. "Or at least until the brass can make up their minds about the new Midway station."

"I can't see the IOA signing off on that any time soon."

"Yes. It would appear that Mr. Coolidge is proving to be a… formidable obstacle towards that end," Brooks said. "He feels that our current methods of transferring personnel and supplies here are more than adequate for –"

"More than adequate for what?" McKay broke in. "Draining what little power our ZPM's have left? Honestly, don't they know how much power it took just to get us here?"

"An argument which both Colonel Carter and Doctor Lee have been making for quite some time."

"The IOA, stubborn to the end," Sheppard quipped.

Brooks smiled. "A seemingly fitting motto," he said. "However, if what Mr. Farren has told me is to be believed, then it would seem that they may finally be close to achieving a compromise."

"Really?" Sheppard and McKay said together, equally as surprised.

"It would appear so, yes," Brooks said. "You see, given Mr. Coolidge's fear of any potential future incursions by the Wraith, Mr. Woolsey has suggested that we remove the Pegasus gates from the gate bridge and simply move the new Midway station closer to the Pegasus galaxy."

"Closer?" Sheppard and McKay said together again.

"Why yes," Brooks said with a rather enthused tone. "With the Midway station placed closer to Pegasus, all we would have to do is transfer any personnel and supplies the rest of the way by ship."

"And in so doing virtually eliminating any potential threat posed by the Wraith," McKay said, quickly cottoning on to the idea for himself. "That's... that's not bad."

Brooks nodded.

"How close are we talking about here?" Sheppard asked.

"That still has yet to be determined, but given its place in the intergalactic void –"

"They would have to find it first," McKay said.

"And better yet, know of its existence," Brooks said. "But even then, initial estimates are anywhere between ten and twenty thousand light years."

Sheppard's brow rose. "That's pretty damned close."

Brooks nodded again. "And at best possible speeds, a five, maybe six-hour round trip for one of our cruisers."

"Well, it's got my vote," Sheppard said. "The sooner it's up and running the better."

* * *

"Mr. Farren sends his apologies for recalling you at such short notice, and especially during your leave," Brooks said as they walked out of the embarkation room together.

"Well, it's not the first time, and I'm pretty sure it won't be the last," Sheppard said.

Brooks nodded his agreement. "Nonetheless, given the situation, he feels that you are most well suited to negotiating with the Wraith in question."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Sheppard said, smiling as Brooks directed them across the corridor towards a set of elevator doors.

As Brooks pressed the door button for the elevator on the right, the footfalls of the other quarantined personnel could be heard as they continued to trail on behind Major Harris as he led them on their tour of the base.

"So what does Todd want this time?" McKay asked.

"That still remains to be seen," Brooks said as the other personnel disappeared out of sight at the top of the corridor. "His message was rather brief to say the least, but he claims that it greatly concerns our alliance."

Ronon gave a dry snort of amusement at the word 'alliance'.

The elevator doors then opened, revealing an empty compartment. Brooks gestured them inside.

"Yes, I suppose 'alliance' is not the best term for our... relationship," Brooks said as he stepped in after them. Then, pressing the button labelled COC on a panel beside the door, he turned back to them.

"So, was that all he had to say?" Sheppard asked.

"Other than a set of rendezvous co-ordinates, no," Brooks said as the doors closed. "But from what I have been told, he was very insistent that a meeting take place, and soon."

"When is the meeting taking place?"

There was a slight shudder as the elevator began to ascend, and Brooks said, "Pretty much as soon as you are done here."

"That soon, huh?"

"Well, that's the thing, Sheppard, Todd is already waiting at the rendezvous co-ordinates."

McKay's brow furrowed. "If Todd is willing to stand around and wait for us then it must be pretty serious," he said, looking to Sheppard. "Wasting time isn't exactly in his nature."

"No, it's not," Sheppard agreed.

And with that, the elevator shuddered to a halt, with the button labelled COC lighting up.

'_Central Operations Control'_, a disembodied voice called out as the elevator doors opened.

As Brooks went to step outside, a pair of Airmen walked past; their arms laden with files and paperwork. He watched them as they passed by, taking note of the files and the small colour coded tags at the top of their spines. Quarantine green, every single one. _It's going to be a busy day,_ he thought to himself as they walked off out of view. But as they all stepped out of the elevator together, the wide and spacious hallway before them seemed to be filled with more people than those that had arrived with Sheppard, McKay and Ronon. Most carried files; a majority of which being green. But there were others. Red for matters concerning the military. Blue for anything in relation to anything pertaining to diplomatic relations. Yellow for anything regarding the planet and the star system. Purple for any other off-world matters pertaining to the base. And a dozen others.

Military and civilian alike continued to walk up and down the hallway, with most entering and exiting the offices that were set up on either side.

"Busy?" Sheppard remarked.

"With your arrival, yes," Brooks said. "We've never had to deal this many people at one time before."

Sheppard nodded. "I suppose the Daedalus lightens your load with its supply runs."

"Considerably, yes," Brooks said. Then, straightening up slightly, he said, "Now, I figured it would be best to get you all settled into your quarters before seeing to your medical screenings. As you can imagine, it's going to be fairly crowded down there."

"Then what are we doing here?" McKay asked. "I thought this was Central Operations Control?" he said, recalling the name from the elevator at their backs.

"And it is, but we have an area set aside for special dignitaries on the eastern side of this level – for the IOA and the like," he added for clarification. "We have rooms set aside for the three of you there."

"And I'll take that as a compliment too," Sheppard said with a smile.

* * *

Placing his thumb against the scanner and waiting for the light to flash green, Sheppard plucked the identification card from its slot and reached down towards the door handle. There was a slight click as the bolt retracted and, reaching back down for his sports bag, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

And there he stopped.

A bed, a nightstand, a dresser and a wardrobe. Perhaps even a desk and chair by the window. That was all he had expected to find. What he had stepped into, however, looked – in every aspect – to be that of a five-star hotel room.

Letting his bag slip from off his shoulder onto the floor, Sheppard blinked. It did little to change what he saw.

A little too wide for its purpose and clean to the point of sterility, it was elegant and inviting nonetheless – there was even a chocolate on his pillow. _Is the President visiting, or something?_ he thought to himself, his mouth agape. The room itself, however – even with its highly polished and seemingly designer furniture – was nothing compared to the view that opened up before him. For the entire wall ahead of him was not a wall at all but was instead a single picture window which went from wall to wall and floor to ceiling – and it was the view beyond which held his gaze.

Before him and bathing in the warmth of a clear summer's day was a lush and vibrant valley. Verdant and dispersed with wildflowers in a cacophony of colours that had been choreographed by the wind, it was a picturesque slice of paradise with clear lagoon-blue lakes and pine forests scattered here and there. _Most likely to go with the room_, Sheppard thought as he swept his gaze further across its landscape to where it met the feet of the mountains in the distance. Like a great spine lain across the far horizon, mountains topped with glimmering snows atop their peaks seemed to fence in the valley down below.

"Captivating, isn't it?" Brooks said, stepping up to his side.

Sheppard breathed a slight chuckle at the question. "The view, or the room?"

Brooks smiled. "Yes," he said. "I suppose both have their merits."

"Merits?" Sheppard repeated. "It's like I've stepped into the Bellagio or something," he said, his expression still somewhat taken aback as he turned back to the room. "And with all its comforts," he added, noticing the chocolate on his pillow and a rather thick looking booklet beside it, which turned out to be a brochure of some kind. Sheppard's brow rose slightly as he reached down to pick it up.

"You too?" McKay's voice suddenly broke in.

Looking up, Sheppard watched as McKay and Ronon leisurely walked in, eyeing up his own quarters as they did. "Yeah," he said as he took up the brochure from the pillow.

"Special dignitaries, huh?" Ronon said.

"For the next twenty-four hours we are, yeah," Sheppard said. "But I sure as hell was not expecting this."

"Well..." McKay said as he began to unwrap the chocolate from his own pillow. "… given our usual accommodations, it just goes to show how high a pedestal the IOA believe themselves to be on. I mean, they've even got room service here. Can you believe that?"

Room service it seemed came fourth on the contents page of the brochure as Sheppard flicked through the pages – and it was certainly hotel-worthy, with an expensive graphic design feel about it. Concierge service seemed to be just the tip of the iceberg as he studied the brochure in more detail. And there seemed to be a whole slew of recreational areas on the sixth and seventh levels of the base, which included a gym, a library, and even a swimming pool on the fourth level.

"Believe me," Brooks said, stepping closer, "I had the same look on my face when I read the proposal for myself."

Reading through the concierge services page just made Sheppard shake his head even more. "It's... it's just –"

"Too much?" Brooks finished, nodding his agreement.

Sheppard nodded, tossing the brochure back onto the bed as he did.

"Well, it was the IOA who requested that these rooms be included when the base was redesigned last year," Brooks said.

"Wishing to maintain their life of luxury, no doubt," McKay said.

Brooks smiled at the jest, but he shook his head all the same. "Well, yes and no," he said. "You see, as you well know, this base was originally intended to serve as a fall-back point for all off-world teams in the case that Atlantis found itself under quarantine."

Sheppard nodded, having set up the plans for the base with Weir and Caldwell himself all those years ago.

"It was only following the incident with the Super-Hive that the base was expanded and repurposed in order to facilitate our current quarantine capacity," Brooks explained.

"And about a hundred others if that floor plan is anything to go by," Sheppard said, indicating to the brochure on the bed.

"Well, if you are referring to the quarters as seen on the third and fourth level, those are to accommodate the rest of the base personnel once the new Midway station has been made operational – whenever that will be," Brooks added dryly.

"And then what?" Ronon asked.

"And then this base will become the Pegasus equivalent of Stargate Command," Brooks said. "Or, as the IOA put it – a facility in which to further coordinate our exploratory and diplomatic efforts across the galaxy."

"So, home base for us then?" Sheppard said.

Brooks nodded. "Of course, all operations will be coordinated from the Alpha Site under Mr. Farren's directive, but yes."

"Well, it's no Atlantis, that's for sure," McKay said.

Sheppard nodded, drawing in a breath as he looked back out of the window. "But..." he said, taking in the view once again, "... special dignitary sure does have a nice ring to it."

* * *

"But I don't need to go," McKay protested again.

"And again, you were informed of the protocols involved before you departed, Doctor McKay," Nurse Muller said. "Now, I can recommend a few techniques which may promote urination."

At that moment, a chuckle of rapt amusement sounded in the cubicle next to theirs, with Sheppard and Ronon both finding some enjoyment in the screenings for a change.

McKay closed his eyes, exhaling a heavy breath.

"However," Nurse Muller continued, "due to the quarantine protocols, until you can provide a urine sample for this screening, your time spent here will have to be extended in order to account for this minor infraction of quarantine procedure."

Another heavy breath escaped McKay's lips.

On the other side of the curtain at McKay's back, Sheppard exhaled a breath of his own. "Oh, Todd's gunna love this."

"We could just leave him here," Ronon suggested.

"Hey!" McKay protested. "I'm right here, you know."

**A LITTLE OVER HALF AN HOUR LATER...**

"Well, that was humiliating," McKay grumbled as Nurse Muller walked out of the cubicle with his sample.

"That's not the word I had in mind," Sheppard said, only just managing to conceal the humour in his tone. "Hell, I'm still surprised that there are that many techniques for making yourself wanna go."

Ronon grinned.

Having at last passed on the samples to one of her colleagues, who placed and sealed them inside a specimen bag, Nurse Muller turned back to them. "Well, now that your samples have been collected, you are free to go about the base at your leisure," she said, addressing the three of them.

"And back in twelve hours' time for round two," Sheppard said.

Nurse Muller nodded. "You will receive notification of when you are to return for your second screenings. However, should there be any problems with your samples, you will be notified immediately." Then, sparing a fleeting glance at McKay, she said, "And once more, please make sure that you conform to the quarantine protocols that have been put in place."

"Oh, there's no need to worry on that account, doc," Sheppard said with the hint of a grin. "I live to watch McKay squirm."

* * *

"Hey, it's not easy you know," McKay argued back as they reached the elevator. "Do you know what it's like to live with high blood pressure? Honestly, with all the medication they've got me on, I'm surprised I don't have a bag strapped to my leg."

"And whilst we are all more than familiar with your bathroom schedule Rodney, we do have an appointment to keep," Sheppard said. He then reached into the back pocket of his trousers and produced the brochure from his room. "Now, where shall we go first?"

With a slight ring, the elevator doors opened.

"Zelenka?"

"Rodney?" Zelenka said, pausing mid-step as he made to step out.

"What are you doing here?"

"Sup doc," Sheppard said.

"Colonel Sheppard. Ronon," Zelenka said, a tone of surprise lingering on his tongue. "I thought you weren't due back for another month?"

"Oh, we weren't," Sheppard said, "but it seems this galaxy can't go a day without throwing an emergency in our faces."

Zelenka's brow furrowed. "An emergency?" he repeated. "Why? What's happened?"

"Todd happened," Ronon said.

Zelenka's brow furrowed even further.

"Well, I wouldn't go as far as to call it an emergency," McKay said rather dismissively, looking to Sheppard. "Todd just wants to talk, that's all."

"That's not the way I heard it," Ronon said.

Sheppard nodded his agreement. "Ronon's right," he said. "In his message, Todd was... I don't know, he just seemed distracted somehow."

"What did he say?" Zelenka asked.

"Well, not much," Sheppard said, "but he seemed fairly adamant that we speak as soon as possible. And if past experience is anything to go by, he wouldn't have contacted us if it wasn't important. But hey, we'll find out what he wants tomorrow." His expression then hardened slightly. "Anyway, I thought they were keeping you Earth-side?"

Zelenka nodded. "As did I, but then my orders changed, and I find myself being shipped off here on the Daedalus."

"Then what are you doing here?" McKay asked. "I thought those three weeks made quarantine pretty much irrelevant?"

"And it does, but Colonel Brooks requested my assistance with the installation of the long-range sensors. You see, there was quite a big solar particle storm a few days ago and the atmospheric ionization has been causing a few calibration issues."

"I bet," McKay said, nodding slowly as he thought the issue over in his head.

"So, are they keeping you here or –"

Zelenka was shaking his head before Sheppard could finish. "No," he said. A smile then spread across his face. "You see, I have been assigned to head up the 'Scientific Research and Development' department at the Alpha Site."

"No you haven't," McKay said almost immediately.

"Um, yes I have," Zelenka said. "My orders came directly from General O'Neill's office. I've got the transfer papers in my quarters to prove it."

"And so are mine," McKay said with a perplexed expression.

"Well, I don't know what to tell you, but those are my orders, Rodney," Zelenka said.

"But you?" McKay said.

"Maybe you're both heads of the department?" Ronon put in.

McKay and Zelenka quickly turned to him – both seeming equally as concerned as the other.

Sheppard concealed his grin. "Well, it kind of makes sense," he said, crossing his arms over his chest, taking some pleasure in the moment as both of them quickly turned to face him. "You are the foremost experts in your fields after all."

"..." McKay held back on his retort, instead exhaling a frustrated breath in its place.


	4. Dark Space

**Milky Way – Earth – Atlantis**

**CONFERENCE ROOM**

"Again?" There was not the slightest hint of surprise in Colonel Davidson's tone.

Sam nodded.

Finishing the last of his coffee, Jack nodded with her, settling his cup back down on the table. "Uh-huh."

Taking up the remote on the table in front of her, Sam turned to the monitor across from them – the Homeworld Command logo revolving at its centre. "As of 1420 hours, our satellites above Cimmeria detected two Alkesh on approach to the planet in hyperspace. Now, this –" With that, a new image appeared on the monitor; the planet Cimmeria at its centre, with two red dots in orbit just off to the left-hand corner of the screen. "– is a real-time sensor telemetry of the planet."

"And you're sure it's the Lucian Alliance?" Woolsey asked.

Sam raised the remote once more. "One of our satellites was able to take these images," she said, and two smaller images appeared – one of each Alkesh; focusing squarely on an area just to the right of the bridge.

"Clan markings," Davidson observed.

Sam placed the remote back down on the table. "Clan Volesce, to be precise," she said. "It's one of the largest clans within the Alliance; second only to Clan Enza."

"Have they responded to our hails?" Davison asked.

Jack raised a brow at that. "Have they ever?"

Woolsey checked his watch. "It is twenty-three minutes to three now," he said, looking up, "and they still have yet to make any aggressive moves. In fact, as far as I am aware, none of their past… incursions, if you will, have yet to result in a conflict. And to that end, could be construed as nothing more than attempts at fearmongering."

"And an attempt to draw out our forces before bugging out the moment we get there," Davidson added.

Woolsey nodded his agreement.

"Well, there's no denying that," Jack said, "but the Cimmerians are our allies, and I'll be damned before I see them become slaves – bugging out or otherwise."

"And under normal circumstances I would be inclined to agree with you, but the IOA is of the opinion that our obligations to protect our allies should only be upheld in the event of an attack."

Both Jack and Sam made to reply; words on the tips of their tongues.

"Which we believe this does not constitute," Woolsey quickly continued.

"But at what cost?" Sam said – the same question on Jack's tongue. "I mean, Cimmeria is over four hundred light years away which, for our ships, means at the very least a five-minute trip through hyperspace before we get there. And that's not including the time it takes for us to react to the attack in the first place."

"Exactly," Jack said.

"And the Cimmerians have been given ample opportunity to respond to the incursion themselves by taking refuge in the underground bunkers we have provided – which the Lucian Alliance – by now – are no doubt aware."

Leaning back in his chair, Jack exhaled sharply. There was no fighting the IOA, he knew.

**WEST PIER, DRIVING RANGE**

_130? 140?_

The wind caught the shot; catching the ball and curling it back almost half the distance. Jack shook his head, expelling another exasperated breath as he watched the ball splash back down into the water. It may not have been the perfect conditions to play in, but it offered him the chance to vent some long overdue frustration.

"I didn't think conditions such as these were suited to the game?"

Having worn its way deep into his features, Jack's frustration seemed more than enough to convey his own reply.

As the door closed shut behind him, Woolsey noted the slight pull of his glasses against the currents. A few spots of rain fell here and there, but the clouds were light against the sun above them as he looked up on his approach to Jack's side. He swallowed his discomfort.

"It was nothing personal, General. I trust you understand that," he said, keeping his distance as Jack drove another ball off into the distant waters. "I was –"

Jack reached down for another ball from the bucket. "I know."

"Then you must understand how difficult it was for me to deliver the IOA's ruling on this matter. During the brief period of time in which I served as Commander of the Atlantis Expedition, I too found myself in many situations where countless lives would rest upon my word."

Jack struggled to set the golf ball on the tee against the wind.

"And whilst we anticipated such reactions to our decision, I for one find myself in agreement with it."

Jack looked up at that.

"Believe me, General. It took a lot of convincing for me to add my consent to this ruling."

"Oh, really?" Jack retorted with a flair of his brow.

Woolsey held his composure, holding Jack's stare. He had expected as much. "You are familiar with the Freestone Report, I trust?"

"Of course I am," Jack said. He straightened, letting the golf ball trail away. "Not a day goes by when a copy doesn't cross my desk."

"Then you are aware of our current intelligence regarding the size and distribution of Lucian Alliance forces throughout the galaxy."

"It's my job to be aware."

"And what does our current intelligence indicate with regards to the number of Ha'tak class vessels under their control?"

"Two, maybe three dozen, at most."

"And if you were to cast your memory back a year from now. What did our intelligence indicate then?"

A breath escaped Jack's lips at that – his memory was not as sharp as it used to be. "Perhaps…" He gave up and shook his head. "Well, it was a lot more, that's for damned sure."

Woolsey nodded. "Precisely," he said. "And our projections are indicating the same for the Free Jaffa and the Tok'ra, respectively."

"So that's what you're basing this ruling on? You'd risk thousands of lives on a projection?"

"We simply believe that they are unwilling to risk their primary military assets in such a fashion, and especially given how vastly superior our own ships are in comparison," Woolsey replied.

"And what happens when they realise that we aren't going to fall for their games anymore?" Jack didn't wait for the reply. "They'll take it for what it is. A sign of weakness. And they'll exploit it."

"So we continue to dance to their tune?" Woolsey said. "We allow them to have us chasing our tails around the galaxy; to lead us into ambushes and to put our off-world bases and personnel at risk? No, General." He shook his head. "No more."

Jack let his stare linger, holding Woolsey's gaze. "And when the Cimmerians are cursing us from the afterlife? What then?"

**Milky Way – Earth – Silver Creek, Minnesota**

**O'NEILL'S CABIN**

Even with the door closed, Jack had his reservations about what he would find on the other side following a nine-month long absence from his beloved fortress of solitude. It was not a pleasant smell; his hand lingering on the fridge door, wondering on what he might find. And it was here where Jack's gaze fell upon a few harder varieties of liquor.

And, a few minutes later, Jack walked back into the living room with two iced whiskeys in one hand and a bottle in the other. Placing the bottle down on the coffee table, he looked up to find Burke standing at the fireplace, looking over the photographs on the shelf above.

"I'd offer you a beer, but that's a risky proposition given the smell my fridge is giving off," Jack said, offering up the glass.

Burke turned back, placing a photo back down as he did so. With a smile, he accepted the glass. "Compliments of a desk job, eh Jack?"

"That's one word for it," Jack said, and he knocked back his glass. "But I didn't expect to be hearing from you so soon. Not with all this 'Wikileaks' palaver, anyhow."

Burke shrugged. "That's just one fish in a big pond, Jack. I've got others to fry."

"Well, yours are goldfish compared to what I have to deal with on a daily basis, believe me," Jack said.

"Ah, so, _undead_ Honduran rebels are commonplace in your line of work?"

"No, but we get plenty of surprises, that's for sure."

Burke knocked back his glass, feeling a refreshing warmth wash down his throat. "Yes. Yes, I'm sure you do." He nodded, smacking his lips with pleasure. Jack had good – and expensive – taste. "And how is SG-1 faring these days?"

Jack felt his own hesitation dragging on, unable to prevent himself from not reacting to it any other way. But Burke was no fool. That much was apparent to him from the moment they started working together all those years ago.

From the inside of his jacket, Burke pulled out a rolled-up magazine. "Page seventeen," he said, holding it out for Jack.

Jack took the magazine – and he laughed.

"Down the Rabbit Hole." He looked to Burke. "Catchy title."

"Would you prefer, 'Down the Wormhole', instead?"

Jack could not help himself from reacting to that either – the mere mention of 'SG-1' and 'Wormhole' causing further hesitation as he held Burke's gaze.

"Go on," Burke said, indicating to the magazine. "Page seventeen."

'Down the Rabbit Hole' appeared in every way to be every conspiracy theorist's dream magazine as Jack glanced over the front cover. UFO's. Cryptozoology. Fringe science. Unexplained phenomena. The supernatural. Big Brother. And pretty much everything else in between. This magazine seemingly had it all and, as he flicked through the pages, stopping here and there for a few catchy articles, he finally came across page seventeen – and he cursed.

**THIS TIME AROUND – An SG-1 Story**

**By Joe Spencer**

Jack felt no need to read on.

"Classified?" Burke asked.

"Is it that obvious?"

* * *

Burke poured himself another glass; the ice having long since melted as the evening drew on. "So you've really been…" He gestured toward the ceiling. "… up there?"

"Once or twice," Jack said. "It's not as great as it's made out to be – that whole 'no one can hear you scream' thing withstanding."

Burke smiled. "So, spaceships, space battles, interstellar travel –"

"Galactic," Jack broke in.

"Galactic?" Burke repeated, his glass wavering at his lips. "You mean –"

"As in other galaxies, yes. Yes, I do."

Burke downed his glass, smiling as he shook his head. "And you think what I do is goldfish in comparison to all that."

"Tadpoles, maybe."

"Well, you must have one hell of a clean-up department for having kept it a secret all this time."

"We do our best, but one of these days we are gunna have to come up with something different than a meteor shower," Jack replied. "These damned conspiracy theorists are still giving us a headache over what happened to the Nimitz and the rest of its strike group."

Jack then glanced at his watch. He had a meeting soon with the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and he couldn't be late.

"Places to go?" Burke asked.

Jack sighed, resisting the urge to refill his own glass. "Unfortunately."

"Off-world, or…"

"Oh, just a meeting with the Joint Chiefs of Staff," Jack said. "My position as head of Homeworld Command kind of gives me an… unofficial extra spot of the board. You know, for our, _off-world_ troubles and such."

"_Our off-world troubles and such_," Burke repeated with a flair to his tone. "You should snap that up for your autobiography before someone beats you to it."

"Me, write a book?" Jack laughed. "In what universe?"

"Well, from what I've read, there's a whole bunch of 'em."

"And a whole bunch more on top of that," Jack added.

Leaning back in the chair, Burke shook his head once again. "You know, if it wasn't for that whole zombie thing in Honduras, I honestly wouldn't have believed a single word of any of this."

"Well, if you want, D.C. is only a few seconds away with our transporters…"

**Milky Way – Earth – Atlantis**

**OFFICE OF JONATHAN J. O'NEILL**

"Spencer?" Daniel repeated. "As in Joe Spencer, the –"

"Demon barber of Indiana? Yep, that's the one," Jack finished.

Sam looked back up from the article in 'Down the Rabbit Hole', frowning. "But I thought we seized everything from his home following the incident?"

"And we did."

"Well, we didn't seize him," Daniel quipped.

Jack cocked his head. "True," he said, "but the only problem is that the intelligence operators handling his surveillance are certain that Joe didn't publish any of it. According to them, there's nothing to hack. From what they could tell, the moment he got his wife and kid back, he didn't write another word. Just wanted his old life back – which we more than compensated him for."

Sam smiled; one reflected by Daniel. "Not something he'd want to risk again."

"Do we know how many other stories have been printed?" Daniel asked, holding another copy of the magazine in his hands – open to the very first story to have been published.

**STARGATE**

"Twenty-three so far."

"Twenty-three?" Daniel and Sam both repeated.

"Yep."

"But five months?" Sam said. "How did –"

"Not a clue," Jack said with a light shrug, "but someone has seriously dropped the ball on this one, that's for damned sure."

"But it just doesn't make any sense. Our data analysts would have detected it almost immediately. Key words and phrases; even our names, all detected in real-time and relayed to our own intelligence operators," Sam said. "There's just no way that this could have avoided detection. Not for five months. No way."

"Well, it did." Jack leaned back in his chair. "Hell, if Burke didn't come across it, we wouldn't have even known about it."

"Have you informed the IOA?" Daniel asked.

"Oh, I'm sure they'll be breathing down my neck about it sooner or later."

"You haven't told them?"

"Daniel, there's only so much about those people I can stomach in a day."

"Well, I think it's fair to say that we're all agreed there, but even so, this is still a serious breach of security," Daniel replied. "And especially when you consider that it's been going on unnoticed for five months."

Sam nodded, still trying to wrap her mind around the breach. "Daniel's right, sir. Now, I can only surmise that whoever leaked these stories is using a sophisticated masking program to fool our surveillance equipment," Sam said, "and if that's the case, then who knows what else has been leaked without our knowing?"

"Well, I've tasked Davis with putting a team together to investigate it all, so we should know more within the hour."

"But even then, the stories have been published," Daniel said. "Is there really anything we can do about it now?"

Jack shrugged. "That's for the clean-up department to figure out."

**Milky Way – Galactic Region known as 'Dark Space' – Uncharted Star System**

**BRA'TAC'S COMMAND VESSEL – PEL'TAK**

Bra'tac shifted uneasily, pushing himself up and out of the throne once again. How Ba'al could have found comfort on such a thing, he did not know. Then again, Ba'al was dead, and that was all the comfort he needed.

"If you want it removed, it'll be extra."

Bra'tac pursed his lips at Jaylen's raspy utterance; the faintest flicker of distaste coming into his expression as he cast his gaze back down to where he was sat beside the auxiliary control console; a crystal tray open before him. The air about him was thick with the scent of smoke and sweat and many other nauseating smells. Even Emar and Ren'ak, standing by the weapons control console were attempting to maintain a healthy distance from him.

"Your repairs of the control console will suffice," Bra'tac said, watching as Jaylen withdrew a crystal from the tray. "There are many other things which are of far greater concern."

"I'm just sayin', I know a fair few people who would pay handsomely for that."

"And I know many more who would pay a greater sum to have it destroyed," Bra'tac answered in a tone which offered no argument. "See to your work, Jaylen. No more."

"Your loss," Jaylen muttered, withdrawing a golden ring-shaped device from his bag. With a grimace, he shook his head. _And mine…_

"Master Bra'tac, we are approaching the last known co-ordinates of Shaq'rel's Ha'tak," Adal called out, standing at the main control console.

Looking up, Bra'tac nodded. "Drop us out of hyperspace."

Beyond the viewport, the pulsating blue vortex of hyperspace dissolved away and the two Ha'tak vessels and five Alkesh that made up Bra'tac's task force dropped out into normal space.

Stepping past Jaylen as he passed the crystal through the ring-shaped device, Bra'tac looked on as the star system came into view. "Have the sensors detected anything?"

"We are too far out from the system," Adal replied. "We will be within range in two minutes."

"Very well," Bra'tac said, "but signal the other ships to raise their shields to full and power their weapons. I do not wish to take any chances here."

Adal nodded. "I could not agree more, Master. I have heard many stories about this region."

"As have I," Bra'tac said, watching as one of the Alkesh in his task force pulled ahead of his ship beyond the viewport. "But let us hope that such misfortune does not waylay us here"

"Oh, please!" Jaylen said sharply. "_Dark Space_," he said with a laugh and a mocking, yet hideous smile of yellowed teeth. He shook his head. "Please don't tell me you believe any of that crap?"

"It is not a matter of whether or not we believe it," Bra'tac said, turning back to face him. "I am merely not willing to risk the lives of those under command over something as of yet unsubstantiated. However, the fact still remains that Shaq'rel's Ha'tak vessel went missing in this region of the galaxy, and that is reason enough for the caution which we undertake here."

"And here I thought you Jaffa were without fear," Jaylen said, placing the crystal back in the tray.

"And there is a distinction between caution and fear which one must exercise in all things," Bra'tac said. "Prudence is a lesson all must learn. Even for Jaffa."

Eyes glazed with disinterest, Jaylen withdrew another crystal from the tray, repeating the process. "I'm just sayin', I've been all over this region, and it aint troubled me none," he said, feeling Bra'tac's gaze on him as he placed the crystal back in the tray. "Now, if you want my opinion –"

"Master Bra'tac, sensors are coming into range of the system," Adal said, raising his voice to be heard over Jaylen.

Bra'tac turned back. "And?"

"Sensors report a single Ha'tak vessel orbiting the third planet of the system."

Bra'tac nodded. "Then let us hope that it is Shaq'rel," he said. "Lay in a course. But keep us out of weapons range," he quickly added. "And signal the other ships to do the same."

Beyond the viewport, the system drew ever closer; a gas giant quickly swelling to fill the screen before being lost to sight as the task force passed on by. Half a dozen planets and dozens of moons joined them as they circumvented the star until, barely perceptible to the Jaffa eye, the sensors picked out the Ha'tak vessel orbiting the planet ahead of them.

It grew steadily, growing from the size of a pea to that of a closed fist and then that of a football. And that was where it stopped. Bra'tac stepped closer to the monitor, watching as it came into sight; illuminated by the pale glow of the distant star. After a moment, he nodded. "Shaq'rel."

Over the years, going back to the birth of the rebellion, the Free Jaffa Fleet was not and had never been in the best of conditions. Most were not worthy of battle, but found themselves pressed into service, nonetheless – either through acts of desperation or to merely serve as a show of force. And here, Bra'tac looked upon familiar signs of damage – some going back all the way to the battle of Dakara – the first and foremost being the damage sustained to the very tip of its pyramid structure. This alone was enough to identify it as Shaq'rel's.

"We are being hailed," Adal said.

Bra'tac nodded. "On screen."

There was a slight crease to Bra'tac's smile as the transmission came through – for it was not Shaq'rel.

The Jaffa straightened. "Tek'ma'te, Master Bra'tac," he said, bowing his head. "It is an honour."

"Tek'ma'te," Bra'tac said, bowing in kind. "Where is Shaq'rel? For I very much wish to speak with him."

"He is currently assisting with repairs to our power distribution systems," the Jaffa replied as two others walked past at his back, "but I have sent for him."

_Assisting with repairs?_ Bra'tac observed the Jaffa with a reserved sense of suspicion at that. "You have sustained damage?"

"We have taken some minor damage, but it is nothing which cannot be repaired."

"What is the cause? Have you been engaged in battle?"

"No. The damage was unrelated. And unforeseeable," the Jaffa quickly added, noting Bra'tac's furrowing brow. "But before you proceed any further, you must be warned of the dangers this system poses to your ships."

"We are detecting no other vessels in the system," Adal said, looking to Bra'tac.

"That is not the danger of which I speak. Our sensors were unable to detect it until it was too late, but from what we have been able to determine, a powerful burst of radiation overwhelmed our systems."

"Our shields have already been raised to full power," Bra'tac said.

"And so were our own, but they were quickly overcome."

"That is most unfortunate," Bra'tac said. "If you wish, we may be able to render assistance with your repairs."

"That'll be extra," came Jaylen's grizzled reply from behind the auxiliary control console.

Bra'tac spared a cursory glance back at him, but turned back; the Jaffa furrowing his brow at Jaylen's interjection. "A human. Assisting with repairs of our own," Bra'tac said in reply, for clarification.

_Call me 'a human' one more time and it'll be extra on top of that,_ Jaylen thought, shaking his head.

A look of understanding passed over the Jaffa's face and, nodding, he said, "Yes, we have two assisting Shaq'rel with the repairs as we speak, but they assure us that repairs should be completed within the hour. After which we shall be continuing with our orders."

Bra'tac nodded. "And what orders are they?"

The transmission terminated.

Bra'tac's eyes widened as the words **'TRANSMISSION DISCONNECTED'**, written in Goa'uld appeared on the viewport before him, and he quickly looked back to Adal.

"The transmission was disconnected at their end, Master," Adal said before Bra'tac could ask.

"Hail them."

"I have already tried, but all attempts are being – Master Bra'tac!" Adal's voice broke with urgency. "The sensors are detecting an anomalous energy signature from their ship."

And with that, darkness fell over Shaq'rel's Ha'tak.

"It seems to be building to –"

And with that, darkness descended over the Pel'tak – and all for but a moment before a blinding flash of white light and an ear-splitting crack of an explosion rocked the Pel'tak, and a violence of sparks and bursts of flame engulfed them all.


	5. A Virtual Nightmare

**Pegasus – M3T-791 – Beta Site**

**Level 8 – Combat Training: Research and Development**

"But an entire floor though? Seems a bit excessive if you ask me," McKay said.

"And that's what I thought at first, but the truth is in fact quite the opposite," Zelenka said as the elevator came to a gradual halt.

The doors opened. _'Level 8 – Combat Training: Research and Development'_, the same disembodied voice announced.

"Sounds like my kind of place," Ronon said.

Sheppard nodded his agreement. "Well, if what we've been hearing about this virtual reality tech is anything to go by, it might be mine too."

Beyond the doors, however, a steady stream of civilians, scientists and military personnel alike walked past, all either deeply immersed in conversation, or otherwise occupied with paperwork and the tablet computers in their hands.

"And by far one of the busiest floors on the base," Zelenka said, commenting on Sheppard and Ronon's words as he found it difficult to find an opening onto the floor.

"I'll say," McKay said.

Sheppard nodded, noting a familiar face as he did by way of Major Teldy as she walked by, conversing with another officer. "... and some pretty damned good odds at pulling it off from what I heard. Hell, I might even put in a bet myself."

"And I don't doubt it," the Lieutenant agreed. "He pretty much took on level three single handed..."

And then they were gone; their voices trailing away with them.

"Level three?" McKay repeated, confused as other voices spoke of similar things. "I thought that was for –"

"No, no." Zelenka shook his head. "They speak of the simulations. The virtual reality training simulations, that is," he added for clarification as an opening finally appeared in the corridor. Taking advantage, he quickly stepped out. "They have become somewhat of a competition around here. And some fairly good entertainment too, depending on the simulations."

"Entertainment?"

Zelenka nodded. "Oh, yes," he said, looking back to them as they stepped out behind him. "With our current understanding of the technology, we have been able to program pretty much anything you could imagine into the simulations – and by that, I mean anything."

**VIRTUAL REALITY LABORATORY 4**

With a look of complete indifference to the childlike expressions of both Sheppard and McKay, Ronon said, "What's a Poké Ball?"

Sitting at his workstation in front of them, Technical Specialist David O'Sullivan looked up at that. "I'm just going to pretend that I didn't hear that."

Sheppard could feel the drool begin to pool in his mouth as David continued to scroll through the inventory list. Every single one that passed on the monitor sent a rush of excitement through him at the prospect of having several of his own childhood dreams potentially become a reality. Holding a Lightsabre. Firing off a Spartan Laser from Halo. And even toying with the likes of the Gravity Gun or the Portal Gun.

"And they all work?" Sheppard asked.

"Oh, yes." David's tone spoke volumes as to his reply. "I mean, given that they were originally designed to operate in a virtual environment where the rules of physics cease to apply, you can pretty much have –"

"Whatever you want," Sheppard finished.

David nodded. "With science fiction comes endless possibilities," he said as the inventory list came to its end on the 'Noisy Cricket' from Men in Black. Then, after a moment, "But that doesn't mean we can do everything – so don't go expecting anything bigger than what we've already shown ya. Spaceships and the like are a little beyond our capabilities."

"So no X-wings or Tie fighters in our future?"

"Unfortunately, no – and that's not for lack of trying. There's just only so much we can do with this technology. Even these had to undergo extensive testing before being approved for use," he said, indicating back to the monitor and the inventory list displayed upon it.

McKay straightened at that; signs of worry beginning to creep in. "Approved for use?"

"Well, as you can expect, there's only so much we can do in a virtual environment, and with the more… specialised items which we have created, we have to be in complete control of the outcome," David replied. "The Poké Ball alone took us seven weeks to get working right."

"Seven weeks?" Sheppard said.

David nodded. "Paddy and I had to iron out a lot of kinks before settin' that thing loose."

"_Before setting that thing loose_?" McKay repeated, incredulous.

"They're perfectly safe, Rodney," Zelenka called out from across the lab at Paddy's workstation. "Honestly. You've got nothing to worry about."

Looking on, Sheppard raised his brow at Zelenka, regarding him with an old and familiar stare which simply read as, '_Come on Doc, this is McKay we're talking about here._'.

"And when I want that inscribed on my tombstone, I'll be sure to give you a call," McKay retorted, "but there is no way in hell that I'm going in there again! I'm still having nightmares about the last time."

"That was a parasitic alien entity, Rodney."

"_That was a parasitic alien entity_," McKay repeated in a childlike demeanour. "Are you kidding me? I almost died. Oh, no, wait… I did!"

"Hey, you weren't alone in that regard, you know," Sheppard said. "And besides, there's no way in hell that I'm passing up on an opportunity like this – parasitic alien entity or not."

* * *

McKay's silence had somewhat deepened as the nurse continued to attach the electrodes to his brow. She smiled. She was gentle. She reassured him. And it did absolutely nothing.

"Don't take it personally," Sheppard said as she tended to him. "He's a sweetie at heart – apparently."

A rosy blush took to her cheeks.

At the main control station just forward of Ronon's bed, Zelenka grinned, indulging in McKay's dispirited state as he watched the O'Sullivan brothers setting up the simulation. With twelve monitors – arranged in a three by four grid on the wall – there was a lot of data and information to process; with new data coming into play with each electrode to be attached. He then turned back to Sheppard in the bed beside Ronon's. "So, these photographs…" he said, slowly, "… are they for –"

Sheppard smiled. "Sorry, doc, but these are mine and mine alone, I'm afraid. But…" He raised the photograph from off his chest once again; a smile coming to both his own and the nurse's lips as she stole a peek for herself. "… there's plenty more where this came from, I can tell you that much."

Zelenka opened his mouth to speak.

"Sorry, doc, but it's not every day that one manages to get their hands on leverage over the _great _Doctor Rodney McKay."

"Great?" Ronon repeated.

"Long story," Sheppard said as the nurse finished her work.

And then, with a deep and exasperated sigh, "Can we just get on with this already?"

"We can't rush this, Rodney, you know that," Zelenka said – and not for the first time.

"Yeah, you wouldn't want to get stuck in their like Teal'c did now, would you?" Sheppard said.

"Oh, yes, and another one to add to the hundred or so things which could go horribly wrong for –"

Adding his own sigh to the air, Sheppard rolled his eyes. "Oh, would you stop acting like a baby for once, Rodney. We're gunna be fine."

"So, is this going to be like… real life?" Ronon asked, reaching up to touch the electrodes. The nurse lightly pulled his hand away as he did, shaking her head with a smile.

"It will most certainly feel that way, yes," Zelenka replied, turning back to the monitors now that all of the electrodes had been attached. "Most can scarcely feel any difference. All forms of sensory perceptions have been meticulously replicated in order to enhance the user experience."

"Even pain?"

"Well, unfortunately, determining a pain threshold is one of the more difficult aspects of a virtual reality, and not to mention a rather traumatizing experience –"

"Eaten alive by a whale, right here," McKay put in with dry enthusiasm.

"That wasn't a particularly enjoyable experience for me, you know," Sheppard said.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I don't seem to recall you dying alongside me."

"And I don't seem to recall you getting your ass kicked by yourself. Oh, yeah, and my _pain threshold_ was pretty damn high."

"Anyway," Zelenka broke in, "in answer to your question Ronon, we have encountered a few issues with how the body reacts to certain simulated stimuli."

"Like _death_ for example?" came McKay's sarcastic riposte.

"For one, yes," Zelenka said, taking some enjoyment from his reply as McKay's face dropped ever further. But then, he smiled. "I'm kidding. I'm kidding," he said with a laugh. "But we have instituted a variety of safety measures which can lessen the effects of any injuries sustained during the simulations. The first of which being…"

**Virtual Reality Program**

To stand and watch as a culling was wrought upon the innocents of the Pegasus galaxy was never an easy thing to bear witness to – least of all a virtual one. But what welcomed them on the other side felt real enough, and for half a heartbeat, seemed like they had stepped into a nightmare.

The ground trembled with the stampeding mass of dozens of men, women and children; the screams and the wails of frightened children and babies striking with a force all by itself as they stepped through the Stargate.

And then came the sound of Darts.

Sheppard felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end at the sound – for it was not one to be forgotten. He swallowed, drawing in a sudden breath; his heartbeat almost doubling as the air about them became filled with their demoralizing drones. It had been but a few moments, and yet, all perceptions of their simulated environment were lost to memory here.

Beside him, McKay recoiled, jerking at the sound, whilst Ronon's hand found his gun.

Drawing in another breath, Sheppard clicked the safety off on his P90. "Anyone got eyes on?"

"I got nothin'," Ronon said, stepping forward and raising his gun to an ever-darkening sky.

But it was all for naught.

The Darts, numbering a little over a dozen, closed in on all sides, sweeping down from the clouds to descend upon the helpless innocents below. And all they could do was watch.

Sheppard closed his eyes to it all.

McKay looked on in horror, his breath frozen in his chest as the culling beams screamed into light. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through his entire body and about a hundred other sensations begin to overwhelm him as the atrocity unfolded before them. He shook, trembling as he watched a young boy fall from his father's arms as they were pushed and forced aside in the madness to escape the culling.

And the boy's wails and inconsolable cries were still echoing in his ears as the last of the Darts drew off, leaving the clearing before them barren and empty; their holds full.

"Difficult to watch, isn't it?"

They all jumped at the sound – even Ronon to a certain extent – as Zelenka appeared before the Stargate again at their backs. Heartbeats spiked once more in the confusion, with bullets almost joining the fray had it not been for McKay's P90 still set to its safety mode.

Sheppard exhaled a breath, lowering his P90 as he did. "You've certainly got a way of sneaking up on people, doc."

McKay exhaled a breath of his own to calm himself. "You can say that again!" he said, shaking his head with an irritated air about him.

* * *

Slipping his gun back into its holster, Ronon said, "And all this is just a computer program?"

Zelenka nodded. "As I said before, most can scarcely feel a difference between this and real-life."

"You can say that again," Sheppard said. "For a moment there I almost forgot that we were in a simulation to begin with."

"Same here," Ronon said.

"And that's generally what we have been hoping to achieve as we further develop the technology for these training simulations. To create a true sense of reality, indistinguishable from our own."

"Well, I'd say you're pretty damned close," Sheppard replied, feeling a slight breeze passing over them.

"But not close enough, I'm afraid. We're still experiencing a few issues here and there in a few of the auxiliary construct cores. Nothing that will affect you, of course. No," he quickly added. "No. Those cores are perfectly secure. But we have had the odd issue here and there with texturing and mesh errors; derezzing and the like."

Ronon frowned. "Derezzing?"

"Like in Tron?" Sheppard asked.

"Very much the same, yes," Zelenka said.

"So, we've got glitches in the matrix now?" McKay sarcastically put in.

Zelenka fought hard not to roll his eyes – but he expected such a remark, nonetheless. "It's nothing to concern yourselves with, I assure you. These are issues which we have been trying to sort out since we first received the technology."

"So what are we talking about here?" Sheppard asked.

"Well, as with all computer systems, you are bound to come across errors and corrupted lines of code. No system is perfect. Not even Atlantis is free of such things.

"But where the virtual reality software is concerned, its processors have to make quintillions of real-time adjustments in order to keep the simulation feeling authentic. Only, the problem is that it's not enough sometimes. Sometimes, they just can't keep up with them all."

Sheppard whistled. "That's a lot of adjustments."

"Which is where the texturing and mesh errors come in," Zelenka said. "Sometimes the processors have to prioritize one thing over another in order for the simulation to –"

"Feel more authentic," Sheppard finished, nodding his understanding.

Zelenka nodded. "But as far as the simulation which you are about to face is concerned, you really have nothing to worry about. It all really depends on how large the simulation is, and of course, how many participants there are."

"Because it has to view the simulation from all of our different perspectives, simultaneously," McKay said.

Zelenka nodded again. "And cross-reference those perspectives against one another as the simulation progresses. Which is why we have limited the number of participants to only six. Anything beyond that and… well, distractions can get you killed.

"Now, the simulation which you are about to face is a standard training exercise for all military personnel assigned to the Pegasus Galaxy, and is the first which they will undertake once they arrive."

_Finally_, both Sheppard and Ronon thought.

Ronon grinned. "Should be easy then."

"Don't go jinxing it for us yet, chewie," Sheppard said, casting him a sideways glance.

Zelenka smiled at that. "Well, if there's anything which our past participants have taken from these simulations, it's that you should be prepared for anything," he said, his tone serious. "Much of what you are about to face has been put together based on mission files, and from the analysis of Wraith tactics and behaviour."

"Kind of defeats the purpose if you're telling us all this, don't you think?" McKay said.

"That's what they all say," Zelenka replied, "but they're all eating their words in the end – and so will you."

**Let The Culling Begin…**

A heavy torrent of rain lashed down upon them unmercifully as they stepped through the Stargate, dampening their spirits in all but the space of a single step.

His hair plastered to his gaunt face; the rain stinging his eyes, McKay flinched as a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, accompanied by a great clap of thunder that shook the very air about them.

Brushing the hair out of his eyes, Sheppard breathed a miserable sigh. "Be prepared for anything, he says," he said, casting a brief glance up at the dark storm clouds above. "Well played, doc. Well played."

But the falling rain and the cold winds formed a natural cover for the Darts approaching from the west – the sound of their approach having been swallowed up by the storm – and a lethal volley of energy bolts rained down upon them. The blasts came one after another, unrelenting in their bombardment, tearing up the ground – a shower of mud and dirt, bushes and clumps of grass raining over them as they drew closer to striking the platform.

Sheppard felt the panic of indecision and anxiety rising within him as the bolts struck the edge of the platform. His breath caught in his throat, debris spraying over him as he desperately sought a retreat. But, at his back, McKay was stuck, frozen with fear and terror and a dozen other emotions; his heart pulsing with terrible jolts, almost verging on blowing itself apart. The stone of the platform cracked and splintered, shattering under the fearsome barrage; forcing Sheppard further back toward an inevitable collision.

"…"

"…"

The collision drove the breath out of them both, Sheppard just barely managing to hold his footing, but McKay was not so lucky. He staggered, reeling backward toward the steps as the energy bolts continued to ravage the platform. His scream was lost, overshadowed by the storm raging overhead as he was pitched off his feet and sent tumbling down the steps – but not before managing to grab a hold of Sheppard in a desperate bid to save himself.

Ronon watched them both fall, almost passing back through the Stargate in his own haste to escape the bombardment. He could feel his chest pounding, the blasts close to deafening in his ears as he was sprayed with bits of stone and debris, cutting into his flesh – the pain very much real. But then, his boots found the edge of the platform; his instinct almost becoming fear – instinct which had kept him alive for over seven years on his run from the Wraith as a Runner.

And then, it all came to an abrupt and sudden end.

As the dust and debris subsided, three Darts shot overhead. Ronon blew out a breath, watching them disappear, ascending up into the clouds.

"Oh, God!"

McKay's scream verged on the edge of hysteria, breaking through the thunder which rolled overhead.

Ronon flushed with alarm, his own pains and discomforts forgotten at the sound as he whipped his head around, raising his gun, ready for whatever the simulation was going to throw at them next. He found Sheppard and McKay at the bottom of the steps. Sheppard was attempting to stand, the slick mud rebuffing his every attempt, but McKay was on his knees – and spitting.

"Oh, God!" he spat. "It's in my mouth! It's in my mouth!"

Ronon did the smallest of double takes as he looked down at him. And then he laughed.

**Meanwhile, in Virtual Reality Laboratory 4…**

Frantically trying – and failing – to push himself up from off the ground; his arms and legs flailing against the wet mud beneath him, McKay's desperation and sheer panic had brought upon a wave of crippling laughter about the room.

"Oh, I am so going to want a copy of this, doc," Lorne laughed, gripping both his stomach and the back of Zelenka's chair against the pain.

"Oh, no, no, no," Zelenka shook his head. "Sorry, Major, but this one stays with me, I'm afraid," he said, his eyes gleaming with delight and a broad smile on his lips. _I have plans for this_.

**Back in the simulation…**

As far as camouflage went, McKay had done a pretty good job on himself as far as Sheppard was concerned. _A veritable mud pack_, he thought with a smile. _Shame I don't have a camera though_. Mud and dirt had formed a thick blanket over his face, leaving only his eyes – wide with shock – to be seen. Small clumps of grass were stuck between his teeth, remnants of the mouthful he had almost swallowed in the fall.

"It… it… it's in my mouth!" McKay spat again. "It's in my mouth!"

Holstering his gun, Ronon stepped down behind him, slid his hands beneath his arms and lifted him up to his feet as easily as though he were a child. But McKay swayed as Ronon let him go, his legs folding up beneath him; collapsing back into Ronon's waiting arms. Ronon lowered him to the steps, McKay offering no thanks as he tried to wipe his face clean.

Ronon extended his hand to Sheppard and hauled him up and across to the steps, out of the mud. "You alright?"

Finding his breath, Sheppard doubled over, hands on his knees, breathing deeply as he attempted to control the trembling that had seized control of his entire body. "Well… I've been better."

Sheppard shivered as the rain crept down his neck and back. He was wet through. Well, they were all wet through – only Ronon fared the worst of it, with his usual sleeveless shirt and trousers to protect him against the cold and the rain. Sheppard on the other hand, had several – with an added tactical vest on top of that, weighing him down even further.

"You hurt?"

"Only my dignity." Then, looking down at McKay, spitting and picking at the last dirty remnants from his teeth, gave a light laugh. "But not that much."

Ronon grinned. "Well, they did say –" He then broke off, distracted, looking up to the sky as a droning sound began to break through the sounds of the storm.

"What –" And then Sheppard heard it too.

"Darts!" Ronon lifted his gun from its holster. Even at the edge of his hearing, their drones were unmistakable – even with the noise of the wind and the rain blowing against his face.

Turning slowly on the spot, Sheppard saw naught but dark storm clouds. "I got nothin'"

But the first glimpse of movement came not from the skies – and neither did the screams.

It seemed the same panic-stricken mob as before; with the clearing and the trees about them of the same geographic as the planet which they had just left. The only difference, however, was the storm, and it was making their escape ever the more difficult. The gusts were blowing so strongly that they were being pushed about like puppets on a string. And the rain wasn't helping matters either. It lashed down in a hard, cold torrent; the ground treacherous underfoot.

And then, sweeping in from the east, the three Darts came back into view, and a sickening sense of déjà vu came over Sheppard like a chill; his gaze whipping back to the men, women and children before them.

"Let's move!"

Skipping the steps in almost a single bound, he splashed down into a muddy pool, swelling quickly from the rain. Planting his feet proved a futile attempt, with even Ronon struggling to gain a decent footing. But it was of no use. For, against what little ground they had been able to cover, the Darts had begun their decent; their culling beams screaming into light and tearing on toward their helpless victims.

Looking away and closing their eyes against it proved difficult.

They stumbled and fell, slipping on the mud and pushing against one another as they desperately fought to flee back toward the Stargate. The elderly. Children. Even a lady cradling a baby close to her chest was shuffled about like a ragdoll. But it made no difference in the resulting chaos. For chaos reigned during a culling, and this was by no means an exception.

Dozens were swept away, leaving only a handful behind.

Ronon dropped to a knee, catching a young child as he fell. "Don't worry, I…" But the boy gave no thanks; instead, pushing him off and running for the Stargate.

Including the child, only six remained as the Darts ascended back up into the clouds; one boy in his teenage years, two young ladies, and two elderly men, supporting one another as they struggled against the mud at the back of the group.

"Please, help us!" one of the ladies cried, collapsing exhaustedly into McKay's arms as he eventually caught them up. She trembled, violently, clutching him tightly. "Please!" she wept, breaking down even further into his arms.

"I… I… I …" McKay stammered, open-mouthed; at a complete loss. "Wha –"

"Please!"

Wide-eyed and developing a tremble of his own from where her nails were beginning to dig into his arm, McKay looked to Sheppard, contending with the other panic-stricken lady as he told her, over and over again, to run for the Stargate. Fear had sunk deep within them, deeper than any words would be able to reach.

"Sheppard!" Ronon broke in, moving quickly to support the elderly men. "We've got more incoming!"

Like a flood, dozens more came fleeing in terror through the trees – and with them came the Darts once again. The lady in McKay's arms flinched at the sound, breaking down even further as they drew in closer from the west. And against it all, Sheppard seemed struck with indecision. He tried to think, shaking his head, knowing he had but a few seconds in which to order and find his thoughts before the Darts closed in again – perhaps for them all this time. But his thoughts were clouded and confused; the storm growing too loud to focus them.

But with a sudden thought, Sheppard cursed under his breath, quickly pulling back the sleeve of his jacket to check his watch beneath.

**33:48… 33:47… 33:46…**

He cursed again, shaking his head. Four minutes wasted and not a single person yet to be safely evacuated through the Stargate. _Must be a record in of itself_, he thought, despondent.

And then, the next wave of cullings began.

Sheppard turned his back to it – just in time to see the young boy who had pushed past them earlier step through the Stargate. _Well, that's one_. With that, he took a deep breath, looking on as Ronon shouted at the other boy to help them. "Alright," he said, trying in haste to arrange his thoughts. "Rodney!" he said, his voice rising to a shout to be heard over the storm. "Get them back to the gate!" He turned back to Ronon, the other boy stepping up to support one of the elderly men. "Ronon, you're with me."

"Get 'em out of here, kid!"

Shuddering against the cold, the boy nodded, reluctantly accepting.

Ronon watched as they staggered on, the boy's haggard breaths drawing in and out, deeper than before as he supported the slow and limping man beside him. He was weak and tired, his fatigue clear to see against the fear etched into his features. "Zelenka sure wasn't kidding about the realism," he said, drawing up beside Sheppard.

"Makes for better training, I guess," Sheppard said, brushing the hair from his eyes once more – a losing battle if there ever was one.

* * *

"And then… there were none."

And with that, McKay collapsed before the Stargate, the words leaving his mouth in an exhausted sigh. He trembled still, worse than before; his legs spent of all their energy after the journey back to the Stargate; not an ounce of strength left to hold him up. And, as a further reward for his actions, the steady beating pulse of a headache grew behind his temples.

"You know, as tempting as it sounds, we don't all have the luxury of taking a break, Rodney!" Sheppard's voice broke in suddenly over the radio.

Closing his eyes against it, McKay cursed. "What?"

"Get up off your ass, Rodney and get back here, now! We can't do this all by ourselves, you know!"

"And if I had the energy to do that, I would," McKay said, his breath heavy with each word, "but unfortunately, my legs are unable to comply with –"

"Save it, Rodney! We're up against the clock here, remember? And we've already wasted enough of that as it is. So get back here, now!"

* * *

"I'm not getting any younger here, Rodney!"

Although frustrated by his laziness, Sheppard understood McKay's exhaustion all too well. The simulation seemed more an exercise in patience and perseverance than anything else; garnering his own respect for what simulations like these could bring about in the training of new personnel – and despite what they had endured so far, it had his personal seal of approval.

And the other potential applications that came to mind for the technology were beyond imagining, with one topic coming to mind above all others. _The future of gaming is going to get a whole lot more interesting_, he thought, imagining total immersion gaming with the likes of Halo and Call of Duty coming to mind.

But now was not the time for such thoughts and, as McKay reluctantly pushed himself back to his feet – albeit very, very slowly – he looked back to his watch.

**32:21… 32:20… 32:19…**

Sheppard cursed again. Their score was laughable, and it had yet to even make it onto the scoreboard – an achievement in and of itself when compared to the other teams who had undertaken the simulation before them at this time.

_So much for AR-1._

Turning back, Sheppard attempted to quicken his pace toward the second group of evacuees – or at least, the survivors – numbering only thirteen. The Darts had swept over not once, but twice in the time it had taken for them to meet the group, where Ronon attempted to keep them calm and, above all else, keep them moving. But as he moved to provide what little assistance he could, gunshots rang out.

**A few minutes earlier…**

Even through the deepening darkness, McKay could feel Sheppard's gaze on him as he sat there, physically spent and trembling against the cold of the wind and the rain. He blew out a bitter sigh, shaking his head against it all.

"I'm not getting any younger here, Rodney!"

With a seething breath of impatience, McKay hung his head. Just the thought of attempting to will himself to move seemed a waste of energy. He felt drained. He felt as though he had just run a marathon – his legs burning from the effort. And again, he felt the sudden urge to leave it all behind and head back through the Stargate once more; stronger than before. But, despite all of that – and most importantly, himself – he just about managed to sit up properly, ready to attempt to try and stand up.

Each effort served only to exhaust him further, and the thick, heavy clumps of mud which had swallowed up his boots didn't help matters either. But, eventually, he managed to push himself back up to his feet, swaying with an almost drunken vigour that only just helped him to narrowly avoid being struck by a stun blast.

McKay sucked in a sharp breath as the blast tore past his face, frighteningly close; electrical arcs licking his cheek and the tip of his nose. He staggered, tripping over his feet and tumbling back down to the ground with a strangled gasp. His P90 dropped with him, clattering away out of reach somewhere behind him. Another blast whistled by as he went down, followed by another, and he scrambled back as fast as his arms and legs would take him, dodging another as he went. And then he saw.

The Wraith warrior emerged from the dark of the woods; weapon raised; it's gaze fixed upon him through its mask. With a start of fear, McKay fumbled for his 9mm, groping wildly as the Wraith advanced. His hands shook and his arm ached as he tore it free of its holster and fired wildly in the direction of the Wraith.

As weak and as tired as he was, he was surprised to find any of his shots finding their mark. One struck its shoulder. Another its chest. And the last struck high on its left thigh. But for all that, the Wraith did not falter in its stride. And then, as he squeezed the trigger again, he heard the sickening finality of a sharp metallic click – the pistol's magazine was empty.

His stomach plummeted at the sound, and McKay felt the breath go out of him in a dry groan as the Wraith continued its advance – an impending sense of doom settling upon him.

**CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. CLICK.**

His finger continued to pull uselessly on the trigger.

Discarding the pistol, McKay scrambled back once more, looking on as electrical arcs wrapped around the tip of the rifle – a spasm of panic and fear surging through him. But then, something pressed hard against his back beneath him – his P90. But it was too late, and a bright ball of light engulfed his vision.

"Rodney!" Sheppard shouted, looking on as the Wraith passed in front of the Stargate, drawing ever closer to McKay's still form upon the ground. "Rodney!"

* * *

Ronon would be too late, he knew, as he ran on ahead, desperate in his bid to get to the gate in time; the wet ground proving little resistance now that he knew the lay of the land and how best to navigate it.

But those gunshots had changed everything, and Zelenka's 'be prepared for anything' statement had come around once more – and complete and utter chaos had ensued; a blind and wild panic which held the surviving evacuees in its grasp. Screams of terror had rent the air at the sound; scattering many into the darkness – and too few remaining for any hope of a decent score.

"Please, help us!" a woman cried, rushing forward and grabbing him by the arm. "Please!"

She trembled fiercely against him, fingers gripping and digging hard against his skin. He could see the fear in her eyes as he looked down at her; his own breathing verging on panic for himself from the jump scare she had visited upon him.

"Please!"

He drew in a steady breath, the words not coming easily to him as he thought on the situation they were facing. All that had consumed his thoughts had been that of McKay and the Wraith, but this new and unexpected variable had changed everything, and he could only think of what else the simulation had in store for them as it drew on.

Another had fled during his hesitation; their potential score dropping into the single digits. He almost swore.

She shook him. "Please, help us!"

* * *

Unable to ignore the urge anymore, Ronon raised his gun – the Wraith crouched over McKay's body, its hand on his chest, fumbling in its attempt to draw the zip of his tactical vest down.

"McKay!" he yelled. "McKay!"

His gun wavered in his hands; spinning in slow circles as he attempted to steady its sights firmly on the Wraith. He had to work his legs harder to keep from slipping as he charged onward, but the ground was almost lost to view before him, with only a few areas to be seen above the water. But then, as his finger wrapped around the trigger, ready to fire, the Wraith pushed the two halves of McKay's vest aside.

He fired twice. He missed twice.

He cursed; his balance having gone awry from having raised his arms to take the shots. He then fired again and again and again, right up until the Wraith tore open McKay's shirt and drew its hand back, ready to feed.

Skidding and stumbling to a halt, Ronon raised his gun once more; his aim straight and true as he drew it level with the Wraith. But the shot came all too late, and he watched helplessly as the Wraith slammed its hand into McKay's chest – a tortured gasp escaping his lips as he jerked awake.

"No!"

From the top of his lungs, his roar seemed to still the very air; his shot seeming to take an age before it struck the Wraith in the back. It spun, twisting away as the blast slammed into it, throwing it off McKay's body to hit the ground beside him; its hand wrenching free of his chest.

But no sooner had the Wraith hit the ground, than another had emerged from behind the back of the Stargate; then another from the other side. And, no sooner had they looked upon the bodies of McKay and the dead Wraith beside him, than they both fell in quick succession to join them.

* * *

A chill ran through Sheppard's veins.

"No!"

The word escaped his trembling lips as nothing less than a whisper as he stood there, panic-stricken and horrified from having just watched McKay being fed upon. But Sheppard found he could not tear his gaze away – even as the Wraith fell dead around his body. _It's just a simulation_. _It's just a simulation_. _It's just a simulation_. But no matter how many times he repeated it to himself, it did little to change what he had just witnessed – simulation or no.

**Meanwhile, back in Virtual Reality Laboratory 4…**

Zelenka dropped his head, his words an untranslatable garble of a groan at the sight of McKay being fed upon – however briefly.

Covering his mouth, Lorne rested his other hand on Zelenka's shoulder. "And here I heard that you're going to be sharing a lab together on the Alpha Site, doc," he said with a grin.

"I… I… I… I need a transfer."

**Back in the simulation…**

Ronon stepped closer to the gate, warily scanning the area as he stalked forward, planting his feet carefully as he approached the platform. A thousand flickers of movement and a myriad of noise – the rustle of leaves; the creaking of branches; the distant screams of the evacuees, and the ever-constant cascade of rainfall – betrayed his senses at every turn.

McKay lay still as a stone as he started up the steps. A dead Wraith lay sprawled across him, the rain washing away the flecks of blood from its hand. But as he stepped up to McKay's body, he felt almost limp with shock; his arms falling to his sides.

Gaunt, pale features; his hair thinning to grey in places – Ronon feared the worst, kicking the Wraith off his body before dropping to a knee beside him. Beneath the folds of his torn shirt, his skin was taut, marred and mutilated from where the Wraith had fed upon him. Reaching down, he pressed his fingers against McKay's throat, probing for a pulse.

"Well?" Sheppard asked over the radio.

Ronon's own pulse quickened as a pulse continued to elude him, but as he pressed his fingers harder against McKay's throat, he felt them – each one weaker than the one before.

"Ronon?"

The words did not come easily to his lips.

"McKay's down."

* * *

"McKay's down."

Sheppard felt the breath go out of him; a sickening feeling swelling in the pit of his stomach at the words which brought him – and the evacuees he was guiding back to the Stargate – to a sudden halt. He opened his mouth to speak, wavering upon the words – unsure whether he wanted to hear the answer. "Is… is he…"

"He's alive…"

Sheppard took a deep breath, slumping slightly as relief swept over him. He had feared the worst as he watched the Wraith feeding; the simulation seeming to slow down as it slammed its hand into McKay's chest.

"… but he's not going to make it."

Bearing most of the lady's weight – still clinging desperately to him – Sheppard closed his eyes. The panicked cries and whimpering of both the lady and the remaining evacuees around him strained and overshadowed his thoughts as he wondered on what to do.

"Sheppard?"

Ronon's voice broke through it all, the sense of panic in his tone rising where Sheppard could still see him, crouched over McKay's body in the distance. He could tell by his tone alone what Ronon was asking, but it had to be done.

"Get him through the gate."

"What?"

"Get him through the gate," Sheppard repeated, far more certain of his decision as he thought on it again. "There's nothing more he can do to help us out here. Besides, if he dies in here, he'll never let us hear the end of it."

**Meanwhile, back in Virtual Reality Laboratory 4…**

McKay woke with a jolt – and an ear-splitting scream – sitting up in his bed so fast that the readouts on the EKG machine surged into sudden arrhythmia. With a look of utmost terror on his face, he clawed at his shirt, fumbling in his panicked state; looking for marks that were not there.

"B-b-but – b-but I was… I was…"

"Fed upon." Lorne finished for him. "Yes. Yes, you were."

McKay shivered terribly at the words, feeling as though he had been plunged into an ice bath. He had felt it. He was sure of that. He had woken just as the Wraith had slammed its hand into his chest, but he had felt it all the same. His breathing deepened at the thought; the EKG machine beeping loudly alongside him as he slowly began to lose control.

A nurse drew up beside him, quick in her response as hyperventilation began to kick in. "Okay, Doctor McKay, I need you to take some nice deep breaths for me," she said, reaching across to turn off the beeping noise. "Breathe through your mouth and take deep breaths."

And McKay did exactly the opposite.

**Back in the simulation…**

"Just go!" Sheppard shouted, feeling a brief sense of relief as he pushed the lady the last few steps toward the Stargate. Pins and needles ran up and down his arm from where she had dug her nails in, and his body ached from having pretty much dragged her all the way here. But against all of that, there was only one thing consuming his thoughts as she passed through the Stargate – McKay.

**26:53… 26:52… 26:51…**

"That's it," Ronon said as he kicked the last of the dead Wraith from off the platform to land in a pile atop the others down below. "We're clear."

Sheppard nodded, turning back from the Stargate to look back down toward the woods. The storm still had yet to let up – and he had a feeling that it never would – with the water levels continuing to rise, slowly consuming each step of the platform as time slowly drew on.

Ronon drew up beside him. "So, what now?"

"That all depends on what they've got in store for us," Sheppard said, silently cursing whoever designed the simulation under his breath. "But…" he paused, brushing as he brushed the hair out of his eyes again – a losing battle if ever he saw one. "But with only the two of us left, we're gunna be stretching ourselves pretty thin if the Wraith target the gate again."

Ronon turned back as he thought on it for himself, his thoughts consumed by the possibility of another Wraith attack as they stood there speaking – taken unawares like McKay had been. "I don't think we have much of a choice," he called back as he peered around the back of the Stargate. "We need the gate."

Sheppard nodded. With McKay down, he knew their options were limited – pretty much to one – but Ronon was right, he knew. They needed the gate. Not only to evacuate any other refugees, but most importantly, they both needed to get through the gate if their score was going to count – as little as it was.

"Alright. Here's what we'll –"

Something caught his attention: a sudden flash of light down near the edge of the woods, followed by another and another and another, until…

"Wraith!"

**Meanwhile, back in Virtual Reality Laboratory 4…**

The nurse had pulled out all the stops in his bid to calm McKay. Talking had proven next to useless – which Zelenka had pointed out several times – and so too had the oxygen mask and the paper bag. But things were at last finally beginning to look up as his heartbeat slowly but surely began to reduce to far more reasonable levels.

"This should help take the edge off," the nurse said, injecting something into his IV.

"_Should_," Lorne muttered to himself, grinning as the nurse gently attempted to handle McKay into leaning back in the bed so that the medication could take effect.

**Back in the simulation…**

"Wraith!"

Sheppard looked up just in time to watch as a jet of blue light shot past him, narrowly missing him by inches. He ducked down at the sight of the Wraith warrior, a blossom of light collecting at the tip of its rifle. He dove, lunging aside, the Wraith firing wildly in its effort to track him and Sheppard firing wildly back as he splashed down into the muddy waters once again. Another splash followed him down, but the Wraith did not get back up again.

Ronon shot the Wraith again for good measure, stepping over it and offering Sheppard his hand. He did not, however, hear the other behind him.

"Can't even catch a –"

But the Wraith emerging from the trees at Ronon's back did not get the jump on them like the last one. It didn't even get the chance to lift its stunner before Sheppard unloaded the rest of his magazine into it, sending it reeling backward into a tree, blood pouring from over a dozen wounds.

"– breath."

"Maybe that's the whole point of all this," Ronon said, keeping an eye out for more Wraith as Sheppard reloaded another magazine into his P90. "To push us to our limits."

"Well, mission accomplished –"

And there it was again – flashes of light down near the edge of the woods. Wraith stunners.

* * *

Sheppard breathed deeply, trying to control the involuntary trembling that had seized his body; his knuckles white against the grip of his P90 as he watched Ronon start off toward the woods. But he was sure of his decision. With McKay gone, someone had to secure the gate, and he didn't believe his legs would support him through another trip – not with what felt like a half-ton of mud plastered over his body.

But as he watched Ronon continue on, a sudden thought struck him. With everything the simulation had already thrown at them, now was not the time to grow careless – again – and especially now that Ronon was not here to watch his back. For his back was open. He was open; vulnerable to another attack that had already cost them McKay.

Turning back, he trembled still; his teeth close to chattering against the cold of the wind and the rain. The darkness set upon the woods had deepened, filling him with a disquieting sense of apprehension as he shifted his gaze from one side of the Stargate to the other. Brief and sporadic bolts of lightning pierced through here and there, but there was nothing. Not a shadow out of place, nor any sound to be heard above the storm. Nothing. Nothing at all – and it sent a chill through his veins.

* * *

Ronon cursed under his breath, finding in ever the more difficult to find a secure and firm footing from where he could take the shots. The cover of the fallen tree provided the perfect opportunity to take the Wraith unawares, but with the slightest movements drawing his boots deeper and deeper into the muddy mire, he had to be quick.

Four. Three. Two. One.

A great clap of thunder provided cover for the shots – a swift and clean motion; one born of skill and proficiency. There were grunts and groans and a few staggered steps, but each Wraith succumbed, splashing down into the mud with large burning holes in their backs.

And with another swift and clean motion, he wrenched his feet free of the mud and vaulted himself over the fallen tree. Sidling into the cover of a nearby tree, he peered out; sparing a cursory glance down at his handiwork as he did. Two had fallen across the unconscious bodies of their victims from where the Wraith had struck them down on their attempted escape to the Stargate. Some had been fed upon, which only served to anger Ronon further as he crept closer toward them. But there was nothing he could have done for them, he knew. The Wraith had pressed in from all sides, fencing them in and picking them off as though it were sport. And from there, the Wraith began the slow task of dragging and carrying the bodies out and into the clearing further up the road, where the Darts could sweep in and make claim to their spoils.

Stepping into a low crouch, he drew closer to the road. He could see all the bodies now. Thirty by his own reckoning. But he had no time to take in the view. For the other Wraith would soon be back to drag off more bodies for the awaiting Darts. And he was going to be waiting for them.

* * *

**22:26… 22:25… 22:24…**

There was no grace to what Sheppard was seeing. Not that he had expected any. The Wraith just dumped their bodies wherever they pleased: men, women and children alike thrown down into a pile.

* * *

Though the taste of it was foul, Ronon lay as still as the bodies all about him as the muddy waters continued to press against him. He was barely able to keep his nose above it all – his position not one of comfort as the Wraith drew closer: a Commander-caste and eight of the warrior-drones based on his earlier surveillance of their position. But despite the discomfort of the waters and the ice-cold chill which had settled upon him, he had to wait. He needed them closer.

The Wraith Commander growled, slowing its pace as it looked down upon the four dead bodies; unaware of Ronon at his feet.

He could feel their movements as the Wraith walked about, taking cautious and measured approaches to the woods on either side as they took up a defensive posture around the Commander. _Perfect_, Ronon thought as he felt the Commander stepping past him; growling as he went. Its movements were slow as he stepped over each body – almost as if examining them, Ronon thought as he stole a quick look up at it. Standing on a child's back, it was crouched low over the Wraith closest to him. Concealed beneath him, Ronon flexed his fingers over the grip of his gun, steeling himself for the right moment. For he would only get the one.

Ronon fired twice, grateful for the expulsion of breath which followed as he pushed himself free of the mud. He twisted himself out and away from under the other bodies and, as the Commander collapsed atop its fellow Wraith with two freshly burning holes in its back, Ronon struck down two more. But as he turned toward another, the confusion, born of his sudden assault, began to fade.

Stunner fire forced him into a dive as he managed to strike the other down; rolling off into a ditch by the side of the road as the Wraith began to press their assault. He pushed against the mud, flailing almost as Sheppard and McKay had done not that long before in his struggle to regain his footing. How he had not been hit yet, he did not know, but the roots of the trees underfoot gave him the chance to pull himself free and dash into the cover of the nearest tree.

Four down. Five to go.

Shot after shot slammed into the tree, tearing deeper and deeper into its bark. Peering out of its cover proved near suicidal with the Wraith beginning to circle around in order to box him. His options were growing desperately thin. All attempts to blindly fire out at them were rebuffed by their vicious onslaught, and the risks of attempting to dive into the cover of another tree was out of the question in these conditions. He shook his head. Perhaps they should not have split up after all?

And then, it was over. The shots ended.

And then came the screams.

Proving to be as much of a distraction for him as it seemed for the Wraith, he peered back out of the cover of the tree.

Even through the dark of the woods, he could still see them – all five of them, and they all had their backs to him. They were close. Closer than he had realised with the nearest only a dozen or so feet away. Their weapons were all raised, and they were all looking back down the road toward where Ronon assumed the evacuee's village must have been.

The moment he had looked upon them, however, they had opened fire, and more screams filled the air.

Ronon stepped out and raised his gun. Not a single one of his five shots missed – not that he had expected them to at this range. And not wasting any time, he carefully stepped back down into the ditch and back up onto the road; taking some delight in watching more Wraith dropping dead at his feet as he did. But even with the Wraith threat eliminated, the screams, shrill with pain and fear, lingered.

But just as he turned to make his way up the road in order to help them, his earpiece clicked.

* * *

**18:37… 18:36… 18:35…**

Uneventful was one way to describe how Sheppard had spent the last several minutes since Ronon's departure. Uncomfortable was another. It was the worst storm he had ever experienced, with every layer of his so-called 'waterproof' uniform having been cut through by the rain. His every movement was one of discomfort – and irritability in certain places.

But other than that, there had been nothing worth of note that he could see.

Until now.

Sheppard itched with indecision as he debated over whether or not to radio Ronon for a report on things. He did not wish to disturb or distract him, but the silence and the uneventfulness of his own situation were beginning to reach even greater heights than anything he could recall having handled before.

With everything he had faced: the Wraith, the Replicators, the Genii, and every other monster, creature and other-worldly being in between, he had never felt so vulnerable as he did right now. Even going up against Michael's experiments seemed a better and more appealing alternative. But that was the entire point of this simulation, he knew, and Zelenka's words once again played out in his mind. "… be prepared for anything."

And here, crouched in the cover of the Stargate, with his gaze slowly sweeping over the treeline, Sheppard did not hear nor see the Dart until it was too late.

Looking up was all he could do – and that alone was enough to let him know that there was nothing he could do to avoid it this time. The energy bolts struck the platform with a terrible explosion of noise; the blasts devastating the stone features of the platform even further as they drove onward toward where Sheppard crouched. The blast engulfed him in stone and dirt and debris, and then he was flying.

Darkness claimed him.

**TO BE CONTINUED…**


	6. An Uninvited Guest

**Pegasus – M3T-791 – Beta Site**

**Radio silence…**

"Sheppard?"

Nothing.

"Sheppard, you there?"

Ronon's brow furrowed as the silence drew on, his concern deepening further. His earpiece had clicked. He was sure of that. Even above the noise of the storm and the hysterical screams of the evacuees as they drew closer, it was as clear and as distinct as it had ever been.

"Sheppard?"

Nothing.

Ronon swallowed, involuntarily, beginning to feel a sense of futility out of it all. And finally, he lowered his hand from the earpiece. If Sheppard could reply, he would have done. Looking back up the road toward the gate, he sighed. He had been calling his name for the better part of a minute, and with a thousand and one questions on his mind, there was one that spoke above all others. One that was beginning to divide his responsibilities. Was he alone?

But the oncoming evacuees could not be ignored. They were too close to simply abandon – not that he would lower himself into doing such a thing. And there were few possibilities as to the cause of the radio silence: a technical glitch or perhaps even Sheppard having lost his earpiece. Both had their merits, he knew, and especially given what they had endured thus far. But the simulation was not over yet. And their score would not count until all three of them had passed through the Stargate – unconscious or otherwise.

But then, something happened which he did not expect, and he watched as the evacuees began to flee into the trees – until not a single one was left.

**15:21… 15:20… 15:19…**

Ronon's mouth slowly fell open as he watched it happen.

_What the hell?_

It felt like a bad joke. After all he had done. After all of that work and effort – and not to mention a little risk – and all for nothing. It made no sense. He was there to help them. To save them. To rescue them from the clutches of the Wraith who now lay dead at his feet.

With a frustrated sigh, he shook his head. What was done was done, and he didn't know if he had the time to go beating the trees looking for them now. It was risk enough standing out in the open for this long, and there was still one other concern which was very much at the forefront of his thoughts – Sheppard.

The rain was falling harder now, lashing down upon him as he considered his options. Gooseflesh rippled across his skin, the cold having taken root deep within. He could feel it in his bones. But it did not bother him. He had faced far worse conditions than these during his time spent as a Runner. He had once spent a day on a world called Ibbana, where the rain had not stopped falling for over six thousand years – and even there he had worn more clothes than he did now.

The decision, however, was an easy one, and he turned back… to find the Wraith Commander standing before him; its teeth bared in a snarl; blood trickling from the corner of its mouth.

How he had not heard it crawling back to its feet, he did not know. But, in that fleeting moment of recognition, what confused him even more, was how it had survived two shots to the back from his gun – and at such close a range, nonetheless.

Eyes widening, Ronon stepped back, but it was already too late, and the Wraith Commander was quickly upon him, stepping inside of his gun arm and slamming its fist into his chest. The force of the blow was sudden and crushing; his breath driven from his lungs in a single and painful cry; lost amidst the noise of the storm. The impact drove him back, lifting him full off his feet and knocking him back through the air more than a dozen feet – his gun falling away from him.

He did not recall hitting the ground, but the sickening crunch of the impact, that he remembered. But it was the bodies beneath him which bore the brunt of it, both human and Wraith alike. He grimaced, pain shuddering through him as he rolled himself off the bodies and into the mud. Ribs had been broken – several of them at that – and he could feel his heart hammering beneath them, the pain near intolerable.

But as he pushed himself over and onto his back, the Commander advanced, weaving a careful path through the bodies toward him. Closing his eyes, Ronon slumped, his head slapping down into the mud along with the rest of his body. But he had to get up. He had to move.

He started to get up… but it was already too late.

Standing over him, the Commander snarled with satisfaction, indulging in his helplessness.

Ronon held its gaze, staring it down, unnerved as it lowered itself into a crouch over him. Even as it tore open his shirt and flexed its feeding hand, Ronon showed not the slightest hint of fear. Brazen and defiant, he awaited it, right up until the Commander brought its hand down against his chest.

And Ronon's knife rose to greet it.

Ronon savoured the Commander's cry with a satisfied expression of his own… and all for but a moment before his own cry joined it – the sudden and excruciating pain in his chest almost blinding him from the effort of the move. But he had to push past it, he knew. He had to force the agony aside – and this Wraith was not going to take care of itself.

And so Ronon wrenched the knife free; tearing it through flesh, muscle and bone alike in a single and clean motion that sent the Commander reeling back – its hand tore near in half; hanging by but a single scrap of flesh.

A strangled, almost choked laughter rose from Ronon's throat as the Commander staggered back, clutching at the remnants of its hand. His smile twisted into a smirk, his pain forgotten. "Sorry," he said with a grimace. "Did I ruin your meal?" And then, with one last effort, he threw the knife. It was all he could do. It was all he had left.

The knife found its mark.

**13:01… 13:00… 12:59…**

Ronon lay motionless, relaxing further in the comfort brought upon him by the loud splash and the steady rumble beneath him as the Commander hit the ground, dead; his knife firmly embedded in its heart.

**11:27… 11:26… 11:25…**

Grimacing against the pain, Ronon slowly managed to find his feet – first onto one knee, then onto one foot and then finally pushing himself up onto both. With each effort, the pain had pushed back, pressing him down with each and every movement he made in his struggle to stand. Every part of him ached, but none more so than the pain in his chest. The pounding had grown more violent, but he would endure it, he knew. For he had faced worse before.

But as he found his feet, he staggered, his footing lost against the mud beneath him and the bodies he found himself stepping on in his haste to find his balance. There was a crack of bone – fortunately and thankfully belonging to the arm of a Wraith, he saw as he looked down at it. But he recovered his footing quickly enough, planting his foot on top of the Wraith's back as he brought himself to a stop.

Closing his eyes, Ronon breathed deeply, near close to exhaustion as he attempted to exert some measure of control over himself. But the pain was inhibiting everything; pressing him to near collapse as he clutched his chest.

He then opened his eyes, a sudden thought coming to him.

_Sheppard._

**09:41… 09:40… 09:39…**

Frustration, bordering on anger filled him and, without caring, Ronon lashed out with his foot, venting it all into a kick. The Wraith's body lifted against the impact, splashing back down into the dirt.

_Where the hell…_

Ronon's gun was nowhere to be found.

He shook his head, his chest burning from the effort of the kick. This was the place. This was where it had fallen. He was sure of that. But there was nothing: nothing in the mud or hidden amongst the bodies, or anywhere else he had searched.

And so he searched again… and found nothing.

Ronon kicked out at the Wraith again, feeling a satisfactory crunch of bone. But it was not enough – nowhere near enough to placate him in recompense for his loss. The feeling of his empty hands and the lightened holster on his thigh was not one he was accustomed to. He felt exposed. Exposed and vulnerable.

**06:34… 06:33… 06:32…**

Reaching down, Ronon wrenched the knife free of the Commander's chest – but not before giving it a good twist first. "And stay down."

Stowing the knife away, Ronon reached across and took up the Commander's stunner pistol, carefully watching for any potential signs of life from its corpse as he rose to his feet. None came. Not that he thought any would given what he had just done to its heart. No Wraith could survive that – not even a Queen.

The stunner pistol, however, did not sit too well in his hands, but it was better than nothing.

**04:00… 03:59… 03:58…**

At as quick a pace as he could maintain against the pain in his chest and the wet, muddy ground beneath his feet, Ronon finally caught sight of the clearing through the trees. Tracing back the route proved easy enough, his tracking skills clear and uninhibited as he managed to discern his own boot prints in the dark. Roots and rocks encumbered his footing here and there, but proved little resistance as he approached the clearing. And stepping into the cover of the trees, he cautiously peered out into the clearing.

Stunner fire drove him back.

His breath stuck in his throat, choking him as he spun away; his instincts barely keeping him alive. But it was not enough, and one of the shots clipped his shoulder; a sudden numbness seizing his arm and the stunner pistol falling from his grip. And in that moment, his balance was gone, lost as he tripped over the roots of the tree and slammed back against its trunk. Stars, burning bright and painful, filled his vision against the impact, and he slumped, collapsing to the ground, his legs buckling and then finally giving up on him.

But the Wraith were not letting up on their attack. Blasts fired wide; some shooting past so close he could feel the electrical discharges brush against his skin. But he knew exactly what they were doing. He had seen and experienced it before. Only, there were no evacuees to provide a distraction for him here – none that he could see anyway.

**02:38… 02:37… 02:36…**

Swallowing his discomfort, Ronon pushed out once more, ignoring the pain in his leg as he stretched his muscles further, centimetre by centimetre in his bid to recover the dropped stunner pistol. But it was just out of reach, his boot but a few millimetres away. And pulling himself back into the cover of the tree, Ronon slumped back against the tree, ignoring the cramps in his muscles and all of the other aches and pains he had endured thus far.

The Wraith had yet to relent in their assault, and he knew they would not. All they had to do was keep him confined and penned up here, for it would not be long before his body would give up on him, he knew. The taste of blood in his mouth was becoming stronger, and he was finding it ever the more difficult to maintain consciousness – even with the deafening noise of the stunner blasts slamming into the tree at his back. But he was not going to give in. Not now. Not after all he had endured to get here.

Resting his head back against the trunk of the tree, Ronon drew in a breath, the noise of the stunner blasts furthering the throbbing at his temples; the pulsating veins close to bursting. There was only one thing left for him to do. It was absolute insanity – and it went against every single one of his instincts – but amidst the unending stream of stunner fire, it was the only thing left to him.

Pressing his back against the trunk of the tree, Ronon slowly pushed and edged himself up to his feet, his every movement enflaming the pain in his chest further. His legs shook, trembling with the effort to keep himself up and, as he looked down at where the stunner had fallen, he hesitated; his every instinct screaming out against it. It was all wrong. With the stun blasts shooting past, he would be hit in all but the space of a single step…

**Pegasus – M3T-791 – Beta Site**

**Level 8 – Combat Training: Research and Development**

**VIRTUAL REALITY LABORATORY 4**

Ronon shuddered terribly, drawing in a deep breath as he woke. Whether he had been struck by a stunner or if the time had simply run out, he did not know. But there was one thing he did know – it was over.

Somewhere nearby, someone whistled. "Not bad," David said, exchanging a sideways glance with his brother. "Not bad at all."

Paddy nodded with a look of equal and silent surprise. If he had not seen it, he would have not believed it. He had watched, open-mouthed as Ronon had pushed his way through each and every single obstacle they had thrown at him – and all with a plethora of injuries that would have made any medical professional flinch.

Ronon shuddered again. "That was –" He drew in a breath to further control himself; his heart beating just as hard as it had been just a few moments earlier.

"Intense?" Sheppard finished, standing at his bedside. "Yes. Yes, it was."

Ronon would have said painful – if he had the breath for it. The deep breath he had taken as he woke up had almost threatened to choke him, and all he could do was manage a weak nod.

* * *

As the last of the electrodes were removed, Ronon relaxed further, glad now that he could move freely about his bed with lack of wires and tubes to restrain him. "So, we lost?" he grumbled.

"Don't take it too personally, Chewie," Sheppard said. "It wasn't exactly designed to be a cakewalk."

"Far from it," David concurred, spinning around in his chair at his workstation. "I mean, of all the teams that have participated in this simulation, only three percent have passed."

"Three percent?"

Standing on the opposite side of Ronon's bed from Sheppard, both Zelenka and Lorne nodded. "Coughlin, Reed, Nolan and I barely made it past the twenty minute mark before we all bit the dust," Lorne said. "Those damned Darts were a menace."

Sheppard snorted; his lips curling into a smile. "You're preaching to the choir there."

Lorne smiled. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, they hit us the same way they hit you at the start. Lost half the team in the process though," he said, shaking his head. "Coughlin and Nolan got knocked back through the gate, and Reed took quite the tumble down the steps. Pretty much had to do the rest by myself. Not that it came to much."

"Based on our current statistics, that airstrike accounts for twenty-seven percent of the simulations fatalities," David said, "and of those, sixteen percent have resulted in the loss of all team members involved."

Sheppard whistled. "Well, you weren't wrong when you said to be prepared for anything, doc," he said, looking to Zelenka.

"Well, you can thank artificial intelligence for that," David said.

"Artificial intelligence?" Ronon repeated.

Though not fully understanding Ronon's true query, David nodded, nonetheless. "The simulation, or mission if you will, may at first appear simple enough, but it is in fact a lot more complex than you would believe. You see, such as with video games, these simulations utilize artificial intelligence in order to create responsive, adaptive and intelligent behaviours in non-playable characters – and not to mention dynamic and realistic user experiences."

"Well, mission accomplished," Sheppard remarked. "That was pretty damned indistinguishable to me."

"Hear, hear," Lorne agreed.

"However, another aspect of the artificial intelligence software, lies in its ability to adapt to each participants respective strengths and weaknesses," David continued.

"And how does it do that?" Sheppard asked.

"Well, when this technology was first being developed, Dr. Lee and the team working on it at Stargate Command programmed the simulations in such a way that the participant's own memories formed the basis of the simulations difficulty. However, following the incident where Teal'c got trapped inside the simulation –"

Ronon sat up a bit straighter at that. "He what?"

David nodded. "It's difficult to explain, but yes. You see, with Teal'c's own memories forming the basis for the simulation's difficulty, one of his own memories inadvertently triggered a seemingly unending and unwinnable scenario.

"You see, the memory in question was one in which Teal'c believed that the war against the Goa'uld System Lords could not be won. As such, the simulation incorporated this into its programming –"

Sheppard cleared his throat. "Long story short, whenever Teal'c won, the game would reset and get harder and harder and harder and harder."

"Sounds like my kind of game," Ronon said.

"Except this game almost killed him," David said.

Ronon thought on that a moment, and then turned away, looking across at the other bed, where McKay lay sleeping – and snoring away to the displeasure of everyone else. "Then what's with him?"

"Well," Sheppard began, turning back to look upon McKay as he snored, drooling onto his pillow, "let's just say that he didn't take too well to getting fed upon by the Wraith."

"Ah, yeah. Almost forgot about that," Ronon said.

"Yeah, well, he won't," Sheppard said. "Nearly had himself a heart attack; so they had no choice but to knock him out."

"But he didn't get fed upon," Zelenka put in. "The moment the Wraith's hand touched his chest, he was immediately disconnected from the simulation. After that, well… Rodney's anxiety, hypochondria, and God knows what else took over."

Sheppard smiled. "Still, that disconnection took us all a little by surprise there, doc," Sheppard said. "Hell, I honestly thought I was a dead man when those blasts hit, and then I woke up and almost had a heart attack myself."

"Well, unfortunately the transference of emotional and mental trauma following the disconnection is, at the moment, beyond our control," David said. "It's one of the reasons why these simulations are carried out with medical staff on hand."

"As you can expect, the IOA have expressed their concerns over the potential health risks," Zelenka said.

"Why, have they tried it out yet?" Sheppard said dryly.

Neither Zelenka nor David felt a need to answer that.

**Milky Way - Earth – Atlantis, Janus' Lab**

"General?" Davis said over his radio.

Walking down the corridor towards Janus' Lab, Jack seemed to struggle swallowing down the last of his sandwich. "…" he gasped, a rough series of coughs escaping his throat. His face flushed near-purple as he fought it down, and he at last drew in a deeply rewarding breath as he did.

"General, are you there?" Davis asked again.

Clearing his throat with a rough and haggard cough, Jack rubbed at his eyes. "I'll be there in five," he said, pressing a finger to his earpiece. "Just keep them busy with system checks or something."

"Yes, sir."

As the radio clicked off, Jack reached across and swiped his hand over the door control console. He stepped in casually, and the doors swept shut at his back. "You know, for someone who's supposed to be in command of one of our battlecruisers, you sure do like spending as much time as possible off of it."

Standing just off to his right by one of the lab's various and many workbenches, Sam looked up from her laptop, beside which lay the cloudy, disc shaped crystal that had confounded Daniel several days prior. She smiled at the remark. "Sorry, sir. Couldn't help myself."

"Come now, Carter, you can't go using that excuse every time," he said, breaking a smile of his own as he approached the workbench.

Sam's smile broadened.

"Still trying to figure it out?"

Sam nodded. "There were a couple of tests I thought might be worth pursuing," she said, regarding the crystal with a look that spoke volumes as to her actual progress. Then she looked back up, "You looking for Daniel?"

Jack gave a light shrug. "Just felt like taking a walk."

"Busy day?"

"Early day," he said, leaning against the workbench. Then, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand, "But you know the old saying – a galaxies work is never done."

"So what was it today?"

"Oh, just another Tok'ra and Free Jaffa delegation to discuss the threat of the Lucian Alliance. Not that it came to much," he said. "I mean, the Jaffa are pushing on with this stupid offensive of theirs. The Tok'ra are… well, doing what they do best. And now, thanks to the IOA, we're doing even less than both of 'em put together – which they're not particularly fond of, I can tell you."

"Well, the defensive strategy they are putting into place does have its merits, sir."

"Try telling them that."

Sam smiled. "But the latest Freestone Report has indicated to further infighting within the Lucian Alliance clan."

Jack nodded at that, having been told as much by the Tok'ra delegation. "But they still share one common goal," Jack said, his tone growing a touch more serious, "and based on the latest Tok'ra intelligence, that is still going strong. Infighting or otherwise. But…" And with that, Jack yawned once again, rubbing at his eyes.

Sam watched him, all too familiar with such weariness. Early mornings and late nights were something they had grown accustomed to since the Stargate Program began, and especially where intergalactic time zones were concerned. "Too much politics for one day?" she asked.

"I think you mean a lifetime," Jack sighed. "But anyway… tests?"

Now it was Sam's turn to sigh, and she turned her gaze – speaking for her once again – back down to the crystal. "At this point, all I can say for sure is that it is a control crystal of some kind. Our scans have confirmed that much. But as for this… transmutation of the crystalline structure…" Sam blew out a breath, shaking her head. "… I haven't got a clue."

Reaching out and picking up the crystal, Jack gave her a reassuring smile, "Oh, I'm sure that big old melon of yours will figure it out eventually," he said, turning it over in his hands. "Hell, McKay has all but given up on this thing, and we all know how much he likes to lord his intelligence over everyone."

"Well, to be fair, he is in another…"

Her voice trailed off into silence, and she stared, her eyes narrowing on the crystal in Jack's hand. How he had not noticed yet, she did not know, but the evidence was pretty clear – and so too was the crystal in his hands.

**Milky Way – Earth – High Orbit, H.M.S. Victory**

**BRIDGE**

Entering the bridge and fully immersed in reading through and signing off on many of the last-minute upgrades and system checks for the upcoming hyperdrive tests, Commodore James Robinson almost overlooked the silence that had fallen over the bridge. It took him a few moments before he noticed it. It happened whenever he walked into a room, and he was beginning to get tired of it.

But his features relaxed into a smile as he looked up from his tablet computer. "We've talked about this, people," he said. "You've all got far more important things to be getting on with than standing to attention whenever I walk into a room, and so do I. Now, as you were."

And so, work resumed.

_That's better_, he thought, smiling. But they would adjust in time, he knew.

"Evans, report."

Having restrained her urge to stand to attention along with the others, Flight Lieutenant Evans straightened a little in her seat, nonetheless. "All systems are in the green, sir."

Robinson nodded. "Good."

"However, Homeworld Command has asked us to temporarily postpone the hyperdrive tests until General O'Neill has had a chance to talk with you, sir. A recent development in Atlantis requires his attention."

"Did they say how long he will be?"

"Unfortunately not, no. But they assure us that he will contact you the moment he is available."

Robinson visibly swallowed his disappointment, but nodded, nonetheless.

**Milky Way – Earth – Atlantis, Janus' Lab**

"Huh."

Jack held the crystal up again, but there was no mistaking its clarity.

Daniel blinked again. "And all you did was pick it up?"

"Pretty much."

"But… but the tests came back negative for ATA gene interfacing," Daniel said, still at a loss as Jack handed him the crystal.

Walking back across the lab with a cup of coffee for Daniel, Sam nodded, placing the coffee down in front of him as he took the crystal. "I know," she said, equally as confused. "I mean, McKay has the Ancient gene, and he must have handled this almost as much as you have. Even Sheppard has handled it."

"But it's a crystal," Jack said. "Shouldn't there be circuits and stuff? I can see clear through this thing."

"Well, yes, but this is Ancient technology we're dealing with, sir. Essentially, that crystal is the circuit."

"So it has a power source as well?"

Sam nodded. "Oh, yes. It has been –"

"Erm guys," Daniel said, slowly, his gaze fixed; staring open-mouthed the crystal, "you might want to take a look at this."

The crystal had reverted back to its cloudy state.

Sam stared, incredulous. "What?"

"Is it me, or do you just seem to keep on breaking this thing?" Jack said.

"All I did was –"

"Pick it up?" Jack finished, interrupting his protest. "Yeah. That sounds awful familiar."

"But this doesn't make any sense," Daniel said, shaking his head. "Why –"

"Perhaps not," Sam broke in, and extending a hand toward the crystal in Daniel's hands, asked, "Can I?"

Daniel obliged, handing it over and reaching down to pick up the coffee.

Nothing happened as Sam turned it over in her hands to observe it. Having handled it several times following its first 'transmutation', she had not expected it to. But there was still one other factor left to consider, and she looked to Jack, holding out the crystal for him.

Knowing better than to question anything Sam did, Jack took the crystal, and it turned clear.

**Milky Way – Earth – High Orbit, H.M.S. Victory**

**BRIDGE**

"I have General O'Neill for you, sir."

Robinson breathed a sigh of relief, looking up from his tablet computer. "Ah, finally," he said, pushing himself up and out of his chair. "Put him through."

"Yes, sir," Evans replied.

Robinson stood before the monitor across from Evans' workstation just in time for the transmission to come through. "General O'Neill," Robinson said with a slight nod.

"Colo… Commodore," Jack corrected himself, shaking his head slightly. "How fares your new ship?"

"Well, she's a little more complicated than a Eurofighter, but as far as we can tell, we're ready to proceed with the hyperdrive tests," Robinson said.

"Well, unfortunately, it looks like I'm going to have to ask you to put a hold on that," Jack said. "Word has come down from on high, and it looks like we have a mission for you."

"A mission?"

"Oh, don't go getting too excited, Commodore. Just the run of the mill sensor sweep."

Robinson cocked his head slightly. "A sensor sweep?"

Jack nodded. "You see, several years back, that pesky Goa'uld Anubis decided to throw an asteroid our way."

"Ah, yes, I remember," Robinson said. "If I recall –" And then he paused, a look of realisation coming over him. "The naquadah."

Jack nodded with him. "The IOA wants a mineral survey and compositional analysis for a potential mining operation."

"Seems simple enough."

"I would task the Odyssey for it, but she's a little tied down by the IOA herself," Jack said. "And with the Hammond tasked with protecting the Alpha Site…"

* * *

"Commodore, all systems are online and operational, and we have been given the all clear from Homeworld Command to proceed," Evans reported.

"Thank you, Evans." And with that, Robinson drew in a breath; ready for his first mission – even if it was for something as simple as a sensor sweep. "Take us out."

A chill ran through him, and Robinson could not help but relive the same childlike awe that had struck him as he looked out of the viewport. To clear the moon in a matter of seconds was something he had thought impossible. With speeds of between thirty and forty percent the speed of light, he had estimated that they would be at their destination in a little over an hour – which gave him more than enough time to enjoy the view.

He had flown nearly every jet the Royal Air Force had to offer; had qualifications to fly civilian airliners and various other forms of aircraft. But never in his wildest dreams could he have imagined this. And he thought he was being pranked when he was being informed of the Stargate Programs existence – but the three-hundred-page non-disclosure agreement handed to him by his own Prime Minister suggested otherwise.

"At our current speed, we should reach our destination in one hour and eight minutes, sir," Evans said.

Robinson nodded. "Thank you, Evans."

And then he saw it. Mars.

Amidst the sea of stars beyond the viewport, it was but another pinprick, but he found it quickly enough. And as the minutes passed, it grew steadily larger; its orange-reddish colour captivating everyone on the bridge. Pushing himself up and out of his chair, Robinson felt a near-giddy anticipation to see another planet for himself – and not one on TV or in magazines. This was the real thing. He had only seen the Earth and the Moon as the Victory was being put through its paces for the sublight engine tests, but this was planet number two, and he was not going to waste a single moment of it.

Nor was he going to deprive his crew of the chance.

"Evans," he said, turning back. "Open a ship-wide channel."

"Yes, sir."

He could see the hesitation as she looked up; brow furrowed and a question on her lips as she had looked up from the workstation. But he understood it well enough.

"Ship-wide channel has been established, sir."

Robinson nodded, taking a moment before he spoke and turning back just as Mars grew to encompass the viewport. "Attention, crew of the Victory, this is Commodore Robinson speaking. In a few moments, our current course will be taking us past Mars – and boy is it a sight to see." He took a slight pause. "As such, I am offering you all the chance to put your duties aside for a few minutes and to go and take a look at this breath-taking… and not to mention, once in a lifetime opportunity for yourselves."

Even as he spoke, he could feel the appeal beginning to spread amongst the bridge crew, with excited whispers breaking out.

"The Victory will decelerate to a standard cruising speed as we make our pass, which should provide you with more than enough time to take in the view. Now, Mars should be passing us by on the port side in approximately two minutes, so if you wish to go, then go now… and of course, enjoy yourselves. Robinson out."

A deep, but barely audible breath escaped his lips as he finished his announcement and, other than the noise of the Victory herself and the ship-wide channel clicking off, silence fell thereafter. "A once in a lifetime opportunity, people," he called out as if still in announcement, "and the seconds are tick-tick-ticking away."

**ENGINEERING LAB 2**

The small satellite on the floor of the lab was cube-like in shape – or at least had been at one point in its life. Something had shot through one side and had near-torn the satellite apart from the inside out on the other. Julian Marten's brow rose with surprise as the full extent of the damage revealed itself. "And you say that this was caused by something the size of a marble?"

Looking up from the wreck of the satellite on the floor before them, Doctor Ian Hayes nodded. "If it's travelling fast enough, yeah."

"How fast, Doctor?" Marie Kern, a German IOA member asked, looking up from her notes.

"Well, it's hard to put an exact figure on that, but off the top of my head, I'd say several kilometres per second at the very least."

"Per second?" Marie repeated.

"Oh, yeah," Hayes said with an enthused tone. "But in the end, it's all about distance. The closer the debris is to Earth, the greater its orbital velocity, and the farther away it gets –"

Marie nodded her understanding. "The weaker its orbital velocity becomes," she finished, scribbling down notes once again.

Marten, Kern's German associate, looked up, still in awe at the damage. "Almost makes me glad that I didn't pursue a career as an astronaut."

Hayes smiled. "Well, I knew the risks when I went up all those years ago, but there are special measures put in place to avoid such collisions. Thruster burns usually," he quickly added. "The International Space Station alone has had to perform dozens of these manoeuvres since it was launched; with a fair few of 'em being in relation to the Stargate Program."

"You were an astronaut?" Marten asked.

"A payload specialist, yes," Hayes replied, "and I –"

"I'm done."

At the lab's main workstation, Kavanagh spun around on his chair, his expressionless face not having softened since he had sat down over half an hour ago. He had not taken to his temporary re-assignment well.

Turning back, Hayes looked past him and toward the monitor on the wall ahead of the workstation. "Finally, he breathed. He didn't know how much longer he could have occupied them with talk of the dangers of space debris and meteors and meteorites. He had been talking for so long that it was beginning to bore even him – and it wasn't even his speciality. Even beaming the satellite onboard had been a last ditch attempt to at least keep them interested.

Stepping around the workstation, Hayes looked over the sensor data.

Marten's brow rose once again as he and Marie joined Hayes. The blue of the Earth's oceans and the green/brown of its lands and the clouds in the sky were all but gone, lost amidst the innumerable dots of the debris which littered its orbit.

For a moment, both Marten and Marie were speechless with shock. "My word," Marten said.

But his words came but a moment too soon, and the Earth drew back, shrinking in size by more than half. And it was here where the Earth was lost to sight, fully enveloped by the dots.

"How many is that?" Marie asked.

With a few deft clicks of the controls, Kavanagh uploaded some new data, and with a brief flicker of the monitor, an index appeared at the bottom left hand corner of the screen.

**CAT1 – 1mm to 1cm – 189,392,372**

**CAT2 – 1cm to 10cm – 2,467,117**

**CAT3 – 10cm – 32,195**

_That many?_ Marie mouthed the words.

"But…" Marten paused, turning back to look out of the viewport and to the view of the Earth beyond. He shook his head. The planet looked so clear from up here, unspoilt by any debris.

"Attention, crew of the Victory, this is Commodore Robinson speaking…"

**BRIDGE**

"… and especially given how much effort they have all put into getting the Victory operational," Robinson continued.

On the monitor on the wall across from where Evans sat at the helm, Jack nodded. "Definitely something I wouldn't have thought of."

"Well, it seemed far too good an opportunity to pass up on seeing," Robinson replied, "and it sure did not disappoint."

"And I'm sure it did not, but just you wait until you see what this galaxy has to offer. Or galaxies, rather," Jack corrected himself. "Believe me, Mars will long be forgotten once you've got a few missions under your belt."

Though he did not voice nor show it in any way, Robinson doubted that. Mars held much fascination for him, mainly from an academic interest, and to look upon the planet which had been the focus of many hours of research and study, it was not something that would be forgotten so easily. Nor would he ever.

Olympus Mons, the largest volcano in the solar system, had captivated all those on the bridge with him as it slowly crept into view on the eastern rise of the planet. With Mars coming in at slightly more than half the size of Earth, and with Olympus Mons roughly the size of France, it had dominated the landscape. And following it came Ascraeus Mons, Pavonis Mons and Arsia Mons, which were among some of the largest volcanoes in the solar system.

And thereafter came the Valles Marineris, a staggering two and a half thousand mile long trench system, with depths of up to four miles – and one of the largest canyons in the solar system. But with the planet passing by on the Victory's port side, the viewport on the bridge could only reveal so much before it was lost to view.

Noting Robinson's pause, Jack cleared his throat. "But anyway, I'm sure that you have preparations to make before you proceed with your hyperdrive tests, so I won't keep you any longer."

"Oh, please, we're just about as ready as we'll ever be to proceed," Robinson said. "Honestly, if it was up to me, this would have been a very short trip."

"Yeah, well, it's better to be safe than sorry when it comes to the hyperdrive. Speaking from experience of course."

"Even so, our deep system scan has given us the green light to proceed."

"And as much as I would love to give you that green light, those two IOA guests of yours don't seem too keen on it," Jack replied. "But the sooner the Victory is commissioned the better," he said. "With the Sun Tzu still under repair, our fleet is stretched pretty thin between here and Pegasus. And it will be another two months before the Chekov is projected for completion.

"But there's something to be said for quality over quantity," Jack continued. "Our ships may be few in number, but they're the best in the neighbourhood."

**Milky Way – Sol System – Asteroid Belt, H.M.S. Victory**

**BRIDGE**

Even squinting, two, perhaps three asteroids could be seen drifting through the expanse of space beyond the viewport. Evans leaned back in her chair. "I always thought there would be…"

"More?" Robinson finished.

Evans nodded.

"Well, contrary to popular belief, and popular culture, the asteroid belt is a pretty barren and empty place," Robinson said. "If you were to gather them all into a single object, it would probably be about half the size of the moon."

"Half?"

Robinson nodded. "It's believed to be the remnants of –"

"Sir!" Evans' shout came but a moment shy of a sudden alarm from her console. "Sensors are detecting a ship near Earth. It's –" Evans shook her head, leaning back slightly in her seat, staring at the monitor, her words seemingly lost in her confusion. "This can't be right."

Robinson flinched at the alarm, looking back. "Evans!"

Evans shook her head in reply, reading the sensor data once again. "I… I don't know how to explain it, sir, but the sensors did not detect a hyperspace window."

"What?!"

"The sensors did not detect a hyperspace window, sir. It just appeared out of nowhere," Evans said, looking up as she found no fault with the sensor data. "Seven hundred and twenty-six thousand miles out." Robinson made to open his mouth, but a sharp intake of breath from Evans cut him off. "It's a Goa'uld cargo ship, sir!"

Robinson drew an uncomfortable breath; a grave expression coming into his features. _The Lucian Alliance_, he thought – and a deeply troubling one at that given the potential devastation a single cargo ship could deliver, and almost had done a few months earlier. Luck had smiled upon them that day. But he could not chance a fifty to seventy megaton bomb on luck. Nor could he chance a ship slipping past Earth's only remaining defence – Atlantis.

He shook his head, cursing the IOA for proceeding at sublight speed. They could have been here in the space of a single second with the hyperdrive, and would have been back long before this ship had even arrived.

Evans watched him, her own expression mirroring that of his own as his silence deepened. Time was wasting away. "Sir?"

Robinson blinked, drawing back from the workstation. "Evans, set a course for that ship and engage the hyperdrive." There was no reservation to his tone. "And don't wait for my order." He then looked across to Flying Officer Whittaker at the weapons station. "Whittaker, sound general quarters, and alert Bader and Gibson to have their F-302 squadrons standing by for deployment at a moment's notice."

"Yes, sir."

And that was when he missed it – the Victory's first journey through hyperspace.

It was but a brief flicker. A flash of light and it was all over. His gaze had been on Whittaker and not the viewport, and he had missed it. His sigh found itself lost against the noise of the alarm, but it did not matter now, and he shook his thoughts clear of it; refocusing instead on the small silvery-gold speck that was their uninvited guest beyond the viewport.

"Evans, report!"

"It's a cargo ship, sir, but…"

Robinson watched as her brow furrowed. "What is it, Evans?"

"It's stopped," she said, looking up and out toward the cargo ship.

"What?"

"The cargo ship, sir. It hasn't moved since –" A beeping on the console broke her off. "Sir, I've got General O'Neill for you."

Robinson nodded. "Put him through," he said. Then, looking across to Whittaker, "Order Bader and Gibson to deploy their squadrons. Containment protocol alpha one."

"Yes, sir."

"And Evans, I want everything you can get me on that ship. Full sensor sweep."

"Yes, sir."

Robinson approached the monitor just as the transmission came through, and the sound of Atlantis' own alarms clashed with that of the Victory's own as Jack appeared on the monitor. "Well, Commodore, it looks like that hyperdrive of yours works after all."

"I never doubted it for a second, General," Robinson replied, speaking a little louder to be heard over the noise of both alarms, "but it pains me to think what could have been if…"

Jack nodded his understanding at the pause. "Have you been able to acquire a visual?"

"We're moving to intercept as we speak, but yes, yes we have," Robinson said, taking a brief glance at the cargo ship beyond the viewport. "If you wish, I can have our sensor telemetry transmitted to Atlantis for your own review."

"Any visual telemetry will be much appreciated, but Atlantis' sensors can handle the rest," Jack said. But then, he paused – an impression of an unasked question upon his face. "Speaking of which," he began, his head cocked slightly to one side, "you didn't happen to notice anything odd about our… uninvited guests' arrival?"

Robinson's brow rose in response. "You know, it just so happens that we did," he said. "We're not sure how, but our sensors did not detect the formation of a hyperspace window. The cargo ship just –"

"Appeared out of nowhere?" Jack finished. "Well, that makes two of us. I mean, as far as our deep space sensors are concerned, there were no ships in a forty-three light year radius of Earth."

"Then where –"

Jack wagged a finger at him. "And that, Commodore, is the question."

"Squadrons are away, sir," Whittaker called out.

Much to his disappointment, the deployment was over before Robinson could even turn back, with both Bader and Gibson's squadrons having formed a tight net over the cargo ship. Sitting at a little over a kilometre away, it was still but a silvery-gold speck, but it was by no means any less of a threat. "Well, if they had no intention of surrendering before…" Robinson quietly mused as he took a moment to take in the sight.

Jack smiled. "Oh, just you wait until our rapid response squadrons join you up there. If they're not crapping their pants now…"

Robinson smiled himself. Then, he grew serious, "That being said, General, have you tried to make contact yet?"

"We've tried, but whoever's up there don't seem to be in a particularly talkative mood," Jack said. "And I doubt they came all this way to just sit there doing nothing."

"What about Atlantis' sensors, General?"

"Well, that's where things get really interesting," Jack said. "You see, for some reason, our sensors are unable to penetrate its hull."

There was a short pause, and Robinson spoke slowly, an air of surprised disbelief in every word. "Of a Goa'uld cargo ship?"

"Hard to believe, I know, but the eggheads here can't make heads or tails of it, and they're fairly certain that there's nothing wrong with the sensors."

Robinson considered that a moment. "Evans," he said, turning back to her. "Sensors. What have we got?"

"Nothing that I can make heads or tails of either, sir," she replied, looking up. "Other than identifying it as a Goa'uld cargo ship, our sensors are unable to penetrate its hull."

"We have visual telemetry, sir," Whittaker said, finding an opening to speak.

"On –"

But Whittaker had beaten him to it, and there was the briefest of flickers as the monitor adapted itself to accommodate both feeds. "Atlantis should be receiving telemetry momentarily."

The video, courtesy of Group Captain Bader's F-302, was surprisingly still, but what it displayed was clearly a Goa'uld cargo ship.

"And there she is," Jack said as the video zoomed in a little closer.

"I can't see anyone at the helm," Robinson said.

"Doesn't mean anyone's not home," Jack replied. "Can you get closer?"

Robinson nodded, turning back. "Whittaker, contact Bader and see if he can get a closer shot of the interior of the bridge for us. But have him maintain a safe distance."

"Yes, sir."

It took little more than a minute for Bader to carefully manoeuvre his F-302 into position, but even the steeper and improved angle of the shot did little to reveal much beyond the chairs, or the self-destruct device behind them.

Robinson shook his head. "Nothing."

"What about the floor?" Jack said. "Can you pan the camera down a little?"

But it appeared as thought Bader had read his mind and the video began to slowly pan down, revealing a small segment of floor between the chairs and the self-destruct device – and it was covered in blood. The video panned down even further, and that was where they found him.

That was where they found Bra'tac.


	7. Shipping Problems

**Milky Way – Earth – Atlantis**

**STARGATE OPERATIONS**

"Oh, my God…" Jack shook his head in disbelief. "No."

"General, isn't that…"

Bra'tac lay motionless, his face pale as milk against the blood that had pooled about him.

Jack swallowed, the image growing ever more difficult to contemplate as he looked on. The words did not come easily to him, and he drew a breath for what seemed the first time in several minutes, "That's him. That's Bra'tac."

"Your orders, General?" Robinson asked. There was delicacy in his tone. But there was also a touch of urgency. "He could still be alive."

_Alive_. Jack's eyes widened, a single positive thought finally crossing his mind to lift his spirits – as much as they were in the face of the image which still held his gaze. For he had seen his fair share of death, and whilst he wished that this was not to be, there was one thing which he held to be true.

Bra'tac was one tough son of a bitch.

Jack nodded, drawing a breath as he allowed the thought and the hope to fill him up. "Robinson…" Jack paused, but continued almost as quickly, confident in his decision. "You may have your reservations about what I am about to ask, but I need you to bring that cargo ship onboard. With its hull still scattering our sensors and blocking our transporter capability, it's the only way."

Robinson did not at first reply. Instead, turning to face Evans; not wanting to waste any time.

**Milky Way – Earth – High Orbit, H.M.S. Victory**

**BRIDGE**

Staring out of the viewport, Robinson watched as Evans carefully manoeuvred the Victory in an attempt to bring the cargo ship onboard. It had been edging closer to the port hangar bay for the past few minutes, with a slight spin brought about by a stray piece of debris causing some trouble for Evans as she worked the manoeuvring thrusters.

"Sir, we've got sensor returns from the cargo ship," Whittaker called out.

_Finally_, Robinson turned back, "Confirm."

"Confirmed, sir," Whittaker replied, "but these readings are extremely distorted."

"I'll take that over nothing," Robinson said, walking over. "So, what have we got?" But then, he peered down at the console. is brow rose. A vague but static ridden shape of a cargo ship filled the screen, slowly revolving on an axis.

Whittaker frowned and shook his head slowly. "It's hard to tell, sir. These readings are being scattered about so much that –" He broke off, leaning forward.

"Whittaker?"

"I think it's a life-sign, sir."

"Bra'tac?"

Whittaker shook his head uncertainly. "I'm reading it as a trace heat signature," he said, and then he looked to Robinson, "but it was detected in the rear section of the cargo ship."

Robinson saw the spike for himself as the sensors picked it out on the screen, but it was gone just as quickly, scattered and dispersed by whatever screened the cargo ship from prying eyes.

**PORT HANGAR BAY**

"All we do know, however, is that the bridge appears to be clear. Our visual telemetry has confirmed as much," Robinson said as he addressed the assembled marines before him. In his hands he held his tablet computer, displaying the telemetry of the bridge and the other sensor readings they had been able to get – or at least discern. "Unfortunately, due to the trouble our sensors are having, that does mean that moving forward, you will be going in blind."

"And what of this heat signature in the back of the ship, sir?" Major Dawson asked, pointing it out on the tablet. "Is there someone else onboard?"

Robinson slowly shook his head, but it was not out of dismissal. "We can only speculate at this point, but proceed with caution, nonetheless." Then, dismissing the sensor and telemetry readings from off the tablet screen, he brought up one other image. Or rather, a security feed from inside the bay, with the cargo ship slowly edging closer inside. "Now, Homeworld Command has informed me that due to Bra'tac's incapacitation, access to the ship will prove difficult. You see, from what I have been told the tips of these wings should retract to reveal the bulkhead door."

"Which I take can only be done from the inside?" Lieutenant Blake said.

"That would depend on the cargo ship in question," Robinson replied. "There were some which require voice activation to open from the outside, or hidden keypads and locks. That sort of thing. As such," And with that, he pulled out a small device from his pocket, not too dissimilar to a mobile phone, "this device has been designed to bypass those systems."

"A lock pick?"

Robinson nodded. "If it can bypass doors on Atlantis, it should have no trouble with a cargo ship."

And, with the gentlest of vibrations beneath their feet, the cargo ship touched down in the hangar bay on the other side of the bulkhead door.

"Now, Atlantis' infirmary staff are standing by and waiting to tend to Bra'tac's injuries, which seem quite severe," Robinson quickly continued, "so it is imperative that you get him off that ship as quickly as possible so that we can transport him down to Atlantis."

Dawson, as well as the other members of his squad nodded. "He can count on us, sir. We'll get it done."

And with that the atmospheric pressurisation panel beside the bulkhead door shifted from red to green.

* * *

Dawson, Blake, Collins, and Hook moved with caution as they entered the hangar bay. With Gibson's squadron having been deployed, it was near-devoid of space, with only various pieces of equipment to be seen in the F-302 berths.

The cargo ship, however, dominated the hangar with its presence; with Dawson taking Robinson's words to heart as he considered and judged what he felt to be the best method of handling the situation. And with what he had learned about the ship so far, he had right to be wary.

"Blake, Hook, take the left," he said. "Collins, you're with me."

Their rifles raised and ready, Blake and Hook crossed over to the other side of the hangar, sticking close to the cover of the equipment and maintaining a comfortable, yet hurried pace. Given the time it had taken for Evans to bring the ship onboard, every second counted, and Dawson did not want their first assignment to be a failure – even if it was out of their control. Hope was all they had now.

"You got that security feed, Collins?" Dawson asked, looking to him as they moved on up the bay together.

With his own rifle slung over his shoulder, Collins held Robinson's tablet in his hands. "Bringing it up now, Major."

But then, Hook suddenly halted, raising an open hand into the air. At his back, Blake heeded the signal, quickly dropping to a knee behind the closest – and perhaps not the best – cover he could find – a missile rack.

It took the briefest of moments for the realisation to kick in before Dawson and Collins heeded the signal; crouched behind the cover of a tool cabinet.

"Captain?" Dawson spoke over the radio, his voice a low whisper in Hook's ear.

"That ship's armed, sir," Hook replied, peering around the edge of the wooden crate. "Staff cannon, just next to that ladder on the left."

Dawson nodded, picking it out easily enough.

"And another on the right," Collins put in, pointing it out for Dawson.

"Not exactly standard issue for a cargo ship," Blake said.

Across from him, Hook nodded, "Makes you think of what else that ship might have in store for us."

"Well, for now let's just add it to the list of things which don't add up about this one," Dawson said, rising from the cover of the tool cabinet, "so let's just keep moving on up. Time is something we can't afford to waste here."

"And it's not like there's anything we could do if it opened up on us," Blake said, stepping around the missile rack as they all resumed their sweep up towards the cargo ship. "That baby could rip the ship apart from the inside out."

"Or it could just as easily self-destruct," Hook said. "That's how I'd do it. Quick and clean."

"Not exactly what I want to be hearing right now," Blake said, glancing across at him.

"Seconded," Collins agreed as he continued working to get the security feed as he walked.

And as they passed within a dozen feet of the cargo ship, where the F-302 berths ended, Dawson nudged Collins, signalling to cross over and re-join the others.

"You got that lock pick ready, Blake?" Dawson asked as they met a few feet shy of the ship.

Producing the small device from a pocket on his vest, Blake nodded, "Primed and ready, boss."

Dawson nodded, turning back to the cargo ship, almost within arm's reach. "Good. Get it set up." Then he turned to Collins. "You got that security feed?"

"It's not the best angle," Collins replied as he looked it over.

With a light shrug, Dawson studied it for himself, "Well, as long as it saves us from walking into a hail of gunfire, I'll take it."

"Well, it seems clear. At least the –"

"All set," Blake called out, simply attaching the lock pick just above the retractable wing.

Dawson did not hesitate. "Go!"

Covering Blake as he reached up and pressed his thumb to the screen of the lock pick, Hook was crouched behind a tool cabinet, aiming down the sights of his rifle, ready and waiting for whatever lay beyond. "Don't worry, I've got you covered."

The effect of the lock pick was near immediate and both wings retracted.

Blake stepped through the bulkhead without the slightest hesitation, sweeping and clearing the bridge in a single fluid motion until his gaze fell upon Bra'tac's still form on the ground before him. Their feet almost touched, with Blake's own brushing against the blood that had pooled around him.

"Oh, my god… Hook!"

Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, Blake dropped to Bra'tac's side, his mouth gaped in shock and his wide eyes disbelieving. Draped over him like a shroud, the fabric of Bra'tac's cloak was a tattered and bloodstained mess, and punctuated by at least a half dozen small wounds – gunshot wounds; unmistakable to his eye.

"Is he…"

Blake did not look up as both Hook and Dawson's shadow fell over him; instead, reaching out, and with as much care as he could manage, turned Bra'tac over onto his back. He swallowed, his gaze sweeping over the body. "Through and throughs," he said, glancing up at them both

Dawson nodded, crouching beside him. "Looks like."

Blake shook his head, looking back to the body. He counted eight gunshots: four to the chest, one to his right shoulder, one to his left arm and two in Bra'tac's left leg. "I know these Jaffa are supposed to be tough sons of bitches, but…" He shook his head again. He had seen spilled blood and wounds enough to know of their mortality, and against gunshots wounds such as these, he knew it would be unnecessary to check for a pulse. But he had to check, nonetheless.

"Well?" Dawson asked.

There was a warmth to the body, Blake felt as he pressed his fingers to Bra'tac's neck, but a pulse all but eluded him. "No," he said, groping around for a few more moments. "Nothing."

Dawson let out a breath, dropping his head.

"But I aint no doctor," Blake said, "Could be doing this wrong for all I know."

"Well, speaking of doctors, there's a whole team of 'em waiting for him down in Atlantis, so let's get him up and out."

Collins drew back slightly as Dawson and Blake carried Bra'tac from the cargo ship between them. Blood spattered the ground as they walked; his cloak wrapped over him, leaving only his pale face to be seen.

"Collins, beacon!"

Dawson's shout snapped him back as his stare deepened, and he quickly stepped up. Beacon already in hand, he held it out for Dawson as they laid Bra'tac's body down on the floor. "Major."

Dawson took the beacon and placed it down on the body, clicking a switch as he did. Then, pressing a finger to his earpiece, he said, "Target retrieved and ready for transport."

"Copy that, Major."

And with that, a flash of light engulfed Bra'tac's body and he was gone.

"You really think they have a chance?" Blake said, looking to Dawson.

His gaze lingering on the spot where Bra'tac laid, Dawson hesitated in his reply; the blood gracing his hands and his boots near speaking for him. "I'm sure they'll do their best," he said, rising from his crouch, "but we still have a job to finish here."

His palms slick with blood himself, Blake nodded. "Well, the Stargate Program has seen its fair share of miracles," he said, wiping his hands on his trousers.

"True enough," Dawson said as he did the same with his own hands. Then, taking up the rifle slung over his shoulder, he walked back into the cargo ship, taking care to avoid the blood underfoot as he went.

* * *

Tapping against the spot on the wall where the cargo bay door control panel should have been, Dawson sighed.

Looking over the walls of the recessed doorway for himself, Blake nodded. "Okay, this could be a problem."

"Maybe there's a switch on the cockpit controls?" Hook said.

"Could be," Dawson said, turning back, "but I'd rather we give the lock pick a try before we go pressing any buttons."

Hook nodded. "Yes, sir." And with that he turned and walked back toward the bulkhead door to retrieve the lock pick from the outer hull.

Turning back to the door, Dawson shook his head, "Seems an odd thing to do, removing the control panel like this."

"Maybe it never had one?" Blake suggested as he checked his rifle over. "This could be voice activated for all we know. Or by remote, who knows?"

A smile lifted the corner of Dawson's mouth. "Well, how's your Goa'uld, Lieutenant?"

"About as good as my Ancient," Blake said with light sarcasm.

Dawson's smile widened at the remark.

Hook returned a few moments later; lock pick in hand. "Now, let's see what's behind door number two, shall we?"

Blood spilled from between the door as the lock pick worked its magic again – and a body splashed down into it.

Out of sight of the body and bracing themselves against the walls either side of the doorway, Dawson, Blake and Hook all tensed at the sound; their grips tightening around their rifles. A long silence fell all round as Dawson signalled for Blake and Hook to wait. But as the silence deepened further, Dawson took a step toward the doorway and took a tentative peek out.

The body was not easily missed, but he did not let that distract him from the sight of the cargo bay beyond. Slowly, more of it revealed itself as he peered further out. He could see straight down past the ring platform toward the engine room beyond. But other than the crates and boxes that he could see stacked about the bay, there was nothing else that took his interest. Dawson then drew back.

"Well?" Blake mouthed to him.

Dawson lifted a finger to his mouth and then he reached down into one of his vest pockets and drew out a flashbang. And with that he tossed it down into the cargo bay – and all without pulling the pin.

Blake and Hook quickly covered their ears, steeling themselves for a bang that would not come.

Dawson chuckled at the sight of them both before turning his attention back to the cargo bay. There was not a sound to be heard other than that of the flashbang as it clattered across the floor. Nor thereafter. Just silence.

"You didn't pull the pin?" Blake called across, his voice near a whisper.

Dawson signalled them both to be ready, taking a step toward the doorway and peering out once again. Other than the flashbang laying on the ground within the ring platform, nothing had changed, and so he stepped around the wall and into the doorway.

He was no Jaffa, Dawson noted, glancing briefly at the body beneath him. He bore no tattoo, and his clothes: orange coveralls not too dissimilar to what the crew of the Victory wore, were a world apart from anything he had known them to wear. But he was most definitely dead. The gunshot to his throat had sealed his fate.

"Well, I don't need to check for a pulse with this one," Blake said at his back.

Dawson said nothing as he continued on, edging himself carefully around the body, flattened against the doorway wall as he crossed into the cargo bay – and all was as he suspected.

"All –"

And there came a noise which struck him like a knife – the wail of his radiation detector.

**Milky Way – Earth – Atlantis**

**OPERATING THEATRE 3 – OBSERVATION ROOM**

"… an open pneumothorax putting extreme pressure against his heart," Doctor Lam continued. "One of the shots lacerated his spleen, which will have to be removed. One of his ribs has been fractured into multiple pieces, causing minor lacerations to his left lung – which has since collapsed."

Jack, Sam and Daniel stood before him, looking down upon the small army of doctors and nurses trying to save Bra'tac's life. Each injury pained them just that little bit more as Carolyn read them out, until, after informing them of the other injuries he had sustained to his right shoulder, left arm and left leg, she finally closed the medical chart.

Resting against the cold metal rail of the observation window, Jack slumped, dropping his head with a heavy breath. Bra'tac's body was near hidden from sight as the doctors and nurses went about their work, but the horror that had awaited them as the Victory beamed him down, was still very fresh in his memory.

Lifting a hand to her mouth, Sam gasped. "My God…"

"I will not pretend to offer any good news at this time," Carolyn said as the silence in the room deepened, "but to put it bluntly, if he were human, he'd be dead."

"Well, that's Bra'tac for ya," Jack said. "Stubborn 'til the end."

Carolyn nodded, aware of Bra'tac's full and extensive medical history. "Doctor Palmieri and Doctor Lehmann are two of the best trauma surgeons on the planet," she said, looking down into the operating theatre. "He's in the best of hands, General."

"I don't know, doc. If that was my lying there; looking like that, I'd much rather you stick me in a sarcophagus and be done with it."

"Not exactly something Bra'tac would want forced upon him – near-death or otherwise," Daniel said, looking up.

"No," Sam agreed. "Not even Teal'c would agree to that."

"There was something else which the Ancient medical scanner picked up," Carolyn said, finding an opening in the pause that followed.

Three heads turned expectantly to her.

"Now, we initially assessed Bra'tac's injuries as eight gunshot wounds: all through and throughs. However, the medical scanner was unable to detect even the slightest trace of gunshot residue."

"None?" Sam said.

Carolyn shook her head.

"So he wasn't shot?" Daniel said.

"Well, he was certainly subjected to penetrative trauma, but whether it be from a gunshot or some other projectile weapon, we don't know," she replied. Then, "On a positive note, with no gunshot residue to contaminate the wounds, it should prove easier to treat him."

Jack slowly nodded, his gaze having drifted back down to the surgery below. It was not an easy thing to watch – for any of them. Bags of blood and saline hung from poles all around the operating table, with trays laden with surgical supplies and all the other medical equipment filling in the gaps – leaving little space for the doctors and nurses to work in at all.

"But he is lucky that he got here when he did," Carolyn added as delicately as she could.

Daniel looked up at that. "Speaking of which, do we even know how he managed to get here without us knowing about it?"

Jack simply shrugged. "We've got people looking into it, but by all indications it would appear that he just popped right up out of nowhere. No hyperspace window. Nothing."

"But Atlantis' sensors –"

Jack shook his head. "All quiet on the western front," he said. "Nothing within a forty-three light year radius of Earth, and then… poof. There it is."

**STARGATE OPERATIONS**

"These gravitational readings are off the chart. I've never seen anything like it," Dr. Lee said as Sam replayed the sensor feed of the incident.

Sam nodded. "It seems to be some kind of spatial disruption," she said, slowing the playback of the feed by a factor of ten. She watched carefully, taking note of the gravitational waves and their relative wavelengths as they passed through the area of space where the cargo ship was soon due to appear.

Watching as the spatial disruption formed, Sam reduced the playback even further. "These phase variances are similar to what we would detect when a hyperspace window forms, but these energy signatures are completely different."

"Not to mention these radiation levels," Lee said.

Sam nodded.

"A malfunction, maybe?"

"It's possible," Sam said, considering it as the spatial disruption began to dissipate. But then, as she opened her mouth to speak, the photonic sensors surged, bursting with a brief luminescence and followed by the sudden appearance of the cargo ship.

Sam cocked her head, regarding the photonic readings with further scrutiny. "I may be wrong, but I think I know where this ship might have come from."

* * *

Jack did not pretend to understand the sensor feed. That was until Sam attempted to translate it for him. "An alternate reality?"

"We think," Lee said.

Sam nodded. "We were able to rule out hyperspace travel almost entirely, but it was only when we detected this spike from the photonic sensors that I began to consider it."

"And that means?"

"Whenever we have encountered means of alternate reality travel, there seems to be one variable which remains consistent throughout."

"This flash," Lee continued, "appears to proceed travel to alternative realities."

"Or at least in those instances which we have observed," Sam said.

"And just how did they manage that in a Goa'uld cargo ship?" Daniel asked.

"We don't know. Without access to the cargo ship this is pure speculation."

"Well, they're preparing a MALP as we speak to check it out," Jack replied, "so we should have answers soon enough."

**INFIRMARY**

"How bad?" Jack asked.

Carolyn looked back to the monitor before them, studying the results of the scan. "Factoring in age and the severity of the damage, perhaps one, maybe two weeks at the most."

"So, pretty much a dead man walking?"

"Even at this stage, the only thing we could have done was offer pain management. No treatment could have saved him. He was simply too far gone."

"Given what he's wearing," Daniel began, turning to the table besides the bed where the man lay and the orange coveralls folded atop it, "could it be that he was trying to prevent the radiation leak in the first place?"

"Daniel, after being shot in the neck, I doubt he was up to doing much of anything," Jack said matter-of-factly.

Daniel considered that a moment. "True."

"However, based on what I am seeing in these scans, there is no doubt in my mind that this is not his first exposure," Carolyn said.

Jack's brow rose. "Not his first?"

Carolyn nodded, indicating back to the scan of the body. "These symptoms don't develop this quickly," she said as she pointed to each affected area, "and especially not at the levels detected inside the cargo ship."

"What levels are we talking about here?"

"Two, perhaps three times higher."

"How long would you say he has been living with this?" Daniel asked.

"If I were to hazard a guess, perhaps a week, maybe less," Carolyn replied. "But even then, I find it highly unlikely that he would have the strength to stand, let alone walk."

"Well, we'll just have to add that to the list of things which don't make sense about any of this," Jack said. "But anyway, what about Major Dawson and his team," he asked, turning back to where the team were being treated behind them.

Stepping up to his side, Carolyn looked down to where Dawson, Blake and Hook were all laid back in their beds, trying to while away their time in the infirmary. "With the treatments we are providing, they should make a full recovery. Fortunately, Lieutenant Collins remained outside of the ship, and he has been cleared to return to duty aboard the Victory."

Jack nodded. "Still, Dawson took one hell of a risk dragging this guy out with 'em," he said, watching as the Major continued writing his mission report.

"Yes, he did," Carolyn said matter-of-factly, "but his exposure levels were more or less consistent with that of Lieutenant Blake's and Captain Hook's, so his recovery shouldn't be hindered too much."

* * *

Faded, frayed and filthy, Daniel could barely make out anything as he examined the patch on the left arm of the coveralls. But as he lightly brushed at it with some stain remover, the dirt and other accumulations of filth covering it finally began to break and give way. "HC-34. Heavy Cruiser… Antares."

"What's that?" Jack said, turning back from the corpse of the man who it had once belonged.

"HC-34. Heavy Cruiser Antares," Daniel repeated as the bronze threads of the patch began to catch the light. "It's from the patch."

"Sounds military," Jack said.

Daniel nodded. "The question is, whose?"

**Milky Way – Earth – Arlington County, Virginia**

**WALLACE RESIDENCE**

Marian regarded Eli with a reserved sense of suspicion as she opened her front door. It had only been on the odd occasion where he would occupy a civilian's body for his home visits, with the rest having been through either Telford or the other Air Force personnel on stone duty. But as it always did, her gaze fell upon the black SUV parked on the side of the road, where Major Green stood and gave her the usual reassuring nod.

"It's me, mum."

Unthinking of what her neighbours thought, Marian stepped into a hug. "Eli."

She knew of the complications that Eli's situation had with regards to her neighbours, with various rumours circulating of the visitations she had received. But she simply did not care anymore. She was beyond caring. Her son was back with her.

"It's so good to see you again," she said, breaking away under the curious stare of Mrs. Curtis across the road. She stepped back into the house, ushering him inside as Major Green stepped back into his car and began to pull away.

"I didn't think to be seeing you again so soon," Marian said as she closed the door behind her. "The Air Force normally calls first."

"Well that is because I wanted to surprise you."

Marian's smile widened as Eli kicked off his shoes – a welcome sign that her son was indeed home.

* * *

It was a taste he could only dream about back on Destiny: sweet and buttery, and with just a touch of chewiness throughout. He savoured every bite; indulging himself a little too much as he reached for another cookie from off the cooling rack.

"You have no idea how much I have missed your cooking," Eli said.

Marian smiled warmly as she sat and watched him. "Yes, well, make sure to leave room for your dinner."

"Now…" Eli mumbled through his mouthful. "… this may not be my stomach… but I'll make room."

Marian took a sip of her tea. "I have a surprise for you."

Eli raised a brow as she took up an envelope beside her and passed it over. His eyes quickly drifted to the to its top left hand corner.

**US AIR FORCE ACADEMY HOSPITAL**

**4102 PINION DRIVE**

**COLORADO SPRINGS, CO**

**80840-4000**

"Go on."

There was happiness in her tone, Eli noted as he looked up to her – an excited happiness that he had not heard in a long, long time. He took out the letter and read – for all but a moment before he looked back up again. "White blood cell count... seven hundred –"

"– and twenty four!" Marian finished, near trembling with excitement.

Dropping the letter, Eli pushed back his chair and stepped into her waiting arms, hugging her tightly, overcome with emotion. "Oh, mum, that's fantastic!" His voice broke with emotion as they parted.

"I have more," Marian said as Eli stepped back toward his seat.

His hand drawing back his chair, Eli paused, drawing back with surprise. "After that?"

"Well, it's not as exciting, but I quit my waitressing job."

"You quit your job?"

Marian nodded. "Thanks to those monthly Air Force cheques, yes."

"Really?"

"I have been considering it for a while now, and the cheques more than cover my earnings. Doctor Brightman recommended it as a way to reduce any unnecessary stress. And it really has," she quickly added. "I can honestly say that I haven't felt this good in years."

* * *

"So… how are things? On the ship?"

Eli looked up from his plate as he shovelled in another delicious mouthful of schnitzel – much to the disapproving groan of his stomach. "Well –" It was a question she had been putting off all evening, he knew, and one he had been preparing to answer ever since he arrived. "– I've got the shuttle fully stocked. It took forever, but I've got all the food and water, and pretty much everything else that I think I'm going to need."

"And how long will that last you?"

There was hesitation there, Eli saw. "A few months. Maybe more depending on how I ration it."

Her smile faltered at that; her eyes losing some of their brightness as her gaze drifted back to her own dinner. He had seen it before, not ten days ago when he had informed her of Destiny's current dilemma, and he reached out across the table, taking her hand into his own. "I am coming home," he said, smiling across at her. "I will find a way to get back to you, and I will never stop trying, I promise."

"I know you won't, but…"

Eli's grip tightened against her own. "I am coming home."


	8. Ship Sizes

Hello my fellow Stargate fans,

Well, as you can quite obviously tell, this is not part of the story, but rather a documentation of what I believe to be an accurate-ish accounting of the sizes of the various ships in Stargate. I have not done every single ship in the show - no, that would have taken quite a bit longer - but just the ones which we are all familiar with.

I am writing it for one of two reasons:

The first of which being that the show has not really had a good accounting of their sizes, whether be it from the show or from the various magazines released for merchandise purposes. I mean, I find it rather annoying when I see on the fandom website that the size of the BC-304 has been put as being 200-225 metres in length, 90-95 metres in width, and 70-75 metres in height. And then we have the Aurora class warships, where its length has been put down as 3,000-3,500 metres long and its height at about 500-1000 metres. And whilst the website does say that the sizes are not accurate, it's just really annoying seeing these sizes put up when they are clearly ridiculous.

The second reason being that the next chapter for my story required me to consider the dimensions of a few of the ships listed below. So, I thought, why not write down the others and see what you all think. They are pretty much based on extrapolation from screen shots. However, a few were taken from design work for the show. But I think I have done a good job on it, and they seem reasonable enough.

But let me know what you think. The next chapter is almost done. Another writing project - a novel which I have been planning for quite some time - has been keeping me rather occupied in what little free time I have. But this story is still very much on my mind and has not been forgotten, so apologies for the big gaps between chapters. However, the next chapter is a good one, and I really hope you enjoy it when I finish it.

Regards,

Chris

**Stargate Ship Sizes**

**Tau'ri Fleet**

**X-301 Fighter Interceptor – Abandoned in Space**

Length – 5.4m

Width – 13m

Height – 4m

**X-302 Hyperspace Fighter Interceptor – Experimental/Destroyed**

Length – 8.6m

Width – 17m

Height – 3.5m

**F-302 Fighter Interceptor**

Length – 8.6m

Width – 17m

Height – 3.5m

**BC-303 – Prometheus Class – Discontinued**

Length – 520m

Width – 285m

Height – 200m

**BC-304 – Daedalus Class**

Length – 650m

Width – 365m

Height – 135m

**Alteran/Ancient/Lantean Fleet**

**Alteran Ship – As seen in 'The Ark of Truth'**

Length – 250m

Width – 350m

Height – 200m

**Destiny**

Length – 750m

Width – 520m

Height – 125m

**Seed Ship**

Length – 385m

Width – 240m

Height – 55m

**Destiny Shuttle**

Length – 26.5m

Width – 24.2m

Height – 8.4m

**Atlantis**

Length – 2,600m

Width – 2,600m

Height – 800m

**Puddle Jumper**

Length – 8m

Width – 3.5m

Height – 3m

**Aurora Class Warship**

Length – 875m

Width – 310m

Height – 150m

**Asuran Cruiser**

Length – 200m

Width – 50m

Height – 140m

**Asgard Fleet**

**O'Neill Class Warship**

Length – 1,500m

Width – 1,800m

Height – 700m

**Bilskirnir Class Warship**

Length – 1,000m

Width – 870m

Height – 420m

**Asgard Science Vessel**

Length – 400m

Width – 300m

Height – 250m

**Pegasus Asgard Ship – As seen in 'First Contact' and 'The Lost Tribe'**

Length – 360m

Width – 150m

Height – 50m

**Wraith Fleet**

**Super-Hive***

Length – 13,000m

Width – 8,900m

Height – 1,700m

**Hive***

Length – 7,700m

Width – 5,700m

Height – 1,000m

*** - The difference in dimensions between the Super-Hive and the Hive ship is due to the fact that, with information obtained from visual inspections of the ships in relation to Atlantis and the BC-304's, Todd did say during 'Enemy at the Gate', that the Super-Hive had yet to reach its full potential, and it is due to this that I believe the Super-Hive would have been far larger than a standard Hive ship. Or at least, that is my opinion.**

**Cruiser**

Length – 1,400m

Width – 880m

Height – 200m

**Scout Ship**

Length – 30m

Width – 15m

Height – 7m

**Dart**

Length – 13m

Width – 4m

Height – 2.5m

**Goa'uld Fleet**

**Ha'tak**

Length – 400m

Width – 400m

Height – 180m

**Cheops Class – Ra's ship from the Original movie, also seen in 'Thor's Chariot'**

Length – 235m

Width – 235m

Height – 150m

**Alkesh**

Length – 55m

Width – 45.5m

Height – 25m

**Tel'tak**

Length – 21m

Width – 14.5m

Height – 15m

**Death Glider**

Length – 5.5m

Width – 4.3m

Height – 4m

**Needle Threader**

Length – 4.8m

Width – 4.3m

Height – 4m

**Troopship**

Length – 60m

Width – 45m

Height – 25m

**Alkesh Freighter – As seen in 'Bounty'**

Length – 55m

Width – 40m

Height – 20m

**Osiris' Archaic Tel'tak**

Not enough information to determine any dimensions.

**Apophis' Mothership**

Length – 2,000m

Width – 2,000m

Height – 500m

**Apophis' Battleship**

Not enough information to determine any dimensions.

**Anubis' Mothership**

Length – 2,300m

Width – 2,300m

Height – 400m

**Ori Fleet**

**Ori Warship**

Length – 1,400m

Width – 850m

Height – 260m

**Ori Fighter**

Length – 14m

Width – 5m

Height – 2.5m

**Replicator Ships**

**Replicator Cruiser – Fifth's Design**

Length – 2,000m

Width – 650m

Height – 650m

**Replicator Spider Ship**

Length – 40m

Width – 40m

Height – 8m

**Replicator Controlled Ship – As seen in 'Enemies' and 'Unnatural Selection'**

Length – 700m

Width – 850m

Height – 700m

**Traveller Fleet**

**Traveller Generational Ship**

Length – 300m

Width – 250m

Height – 65m

**Blue Alien Fleet – Stargate Universe**

**Mothership**

Length – 420m

Width – 230m

Height – 180m

**Fighter**

Length – 13m

Width – 10m

Height – 4m

**Drone Fleet – Stargate Universe**

**Drone Control Ship**

Length – 660m

Width – 400m

Height – 200m

**Drones**

Various shapes and sizes.

**Ursini Fleet – Stargate Universe**

**Mothership**

Length – 600m

Width – 350m

Height – 105m


	9. The Alpha Site

**Pegasus – Menai - High Orbit, U.S.S. Apollo**

**BRIDGE**

"So, there's been no problems with the flying monkeys, I take it?"

Zelenka shook his head. "No, Rodney."

His shoulders relaxing, McKay drew an inward sigh of relief.

But he only heard the words. He did not see the faint hint of a smile on Zelenka's lips as he spoke. "Well, not yet anyway."

"Oh, ha ha…"

"They're on another continent, Rodney."

"Flying monkeys," McKay reiterated.

"So, are we there yet?" Sheppard said as both he and Ronon walked onto the bridge.

"We're just coming into orbit now, Colonel," Ellis said, turning in his chair toward them.

Sheppard nodded, "Colonel," he said out of courtesy.

"Captain," Ellis said, turning to his new helmsman, Captain Harper. "Contact Alpha Site Control. Let them know that we have arrived and will be descending shortly."

"Yes, sir."

Menai was not a planet to be forgotten, Sheppard knew as he looked out beyond the viewport – flying monkeys aside. It had not lost any of its beauty, he saw; the planets rings gleaming with a pearlescent glow as the Apollo drew closer. "We sure know how to pick them," he said as the planets largest continent grew to fill the viewport.

"Took 'em long enough," Ronon said.

"You expect any less from the IOA?" Sheppard remarked.

Zelenka nodded. "Yes, well, had our original list of proposed sites not been exposed to a Wraith –"

"Potentially exposed to the Wraith, Radek. Potentially," McKay broke in. "Besides, most of those planets would have been ruled out eventually."

A gentle tremor heralded the Apollo's entry into Menai's atmosphere, with the near-seamless transition lasting mere seconds before she broke through the clouds. And there, the view that opened up before them quickly commanded their attention.

"Whoa!"

Sheppard whistled his agreement, stepping up beside McKay and Zelenka before the viewport.

Ellis rose from his chair. "Quite a sight, isn't it?"

"I'll say."

Following its line east and then west and then back toward the far horizon, the snow-capped mountain peaks glimmered gold in the midday sun. Silence reigned as they cruised over the great range; the pure brilliant white of the snow forming a blanket across the earth. But it was not long before the lofty peaks and high ridges gave way to the lower ranges.

"Had I known, I would have brought my snowboard," Sheppard said as the white peaks slowly began to fade to grey.

"You can always request one on the next supply run from Earth," Ellis said. "A few already have."

"I think I just might."

The first few patches of colour began to seep in here and there as they spoke, with the mountain valleys beginning to fill in with vegetation. Alpine meadows and forests grew to cover the mountain slopes; grasslands covered the valley floors, bisected by rivers and streams that fed into pools and lakes that shone like mirrors in the sun.

And there, naught but a speck on the horizon and sitting higher than all the other peaks around it, loomed the Alpha Site. Three times higher than the other peaks it rose, with long tree-clad slopes that rose up toward a great wall of stone – built into which, and spread out over a distance of at least a mile or more, were three large hangar bay doors.

**Pegasus – Menai – Alpha Site**

**HANGAR BAY 2 – CONTROL ROOM**

Looking up from the report in his hands, William Farren, newly appointed Commander of the Alpha Site and Pegasus Operations, watched as the Apollo touched down in the hangar bay.

"We have contact," the technician manning the control console beside him said. "Closing the hangar bay doors and deploying the docking clamps."

The control room shuddered as the docking clamps slid forth, with affirmative beeps sounding on the console as each locked into place along the Apollo's hull.

"Hangar bay door is closed. Docking clamps are secure," the technician said. "Extending airlock corridors now."

"Let's hope this works," Farren said, watching closely as the corridors slowly extended out toward the airlocks.

"From what I can tell, all readings are in the clear and we are on course," the technician said.

The hull sported dozens of airlocks across its length and breadth, but there were only four which were designed for use in conjunction with the corridors. There were two on both the port and starboard hulls toward the beginning of the Apollo's neck where the bridge was located.

"AC-1, 2, 3 and 4 locked and secure."

Farren nodded with content as each found their mark. "Excellent," he said, watching as the red lights above the two port airlocks turned green. There was an air of anticipation about him as he spoke, "Time to meet the team."

**Pegasus – Menai – U.S.S. Apollo**

**BRIDGE**

The sight of the three hangar bays on approach were impressive – not Atlantis impressive – but enough to endear to memory for the rest of their lives.

Sheppard's mouth fell open. "Holy Hannah!"

Big. Large. Gigantic. Immense. All proved an understatement in comparison to the sight before them; with even Ronon appearing somewhat impressed in his own way as the Apollo slowed its approach toward the second bay door.

**AIRLOCK CORRIDOR 2**

"Oh, come on, Rodney, he's only two years old," Sheppard said. "I honestly don't think Torren's going to make much of those periodic table building blocks you got for him."

"There's nothing wrong with giving him a gentle nudge in the right direction," McKay said.

"Hell, I made him a knife," Ronon put in as the airlock corridor clamped onto the hull with a solid metal clunk.

"And I take it that's the usual Satedan thing to do?" McKay sarcastically interposed.

"In a way," Ronon said, thinking back on the _unique_ assortment of gifts he had received when he was Torren's age.

Knowing Ronon well enough, that left little to the imagination, Sheppard knew. "Well, he's got plenty to open, that's for sure. Even Woolsey pitched in."

"Really?" McKay said.

"Gave it to me just before we left. Big one too," Sheppard quickly added.

As he spoke, the airlock door finally began to open. At about seven metres wide and five metres high, the door seemed similar in design to any other bulkhead throughout the ship as it opened up before them, with the only minor exception being that of its size and that of its thickness.

"And remind me why we're doing this again?" McKay said as they caught their first glimpse of the interior of the hangar bay beyond. "Can't they just beam us wherever we need to go?"

"A little exercise won't kill you, Rodney," Sheppard said, "and the Asgard transporters don't operate at your every beck and call, you know."

There was another clunk as the airlock doors locked into place, with the red light above the airlock door turning green. Then, "Attention all personnel, this is Colonel Ellis. Docking procedure is complete and you are clear to disembark. Over."

"Finally," McKay breathed with relief.

"Took 'em long enough," Ronon agreed.

"Well, I'm sure pulling several hundred thousand tonnes worth of spaceship into this drive is a bit harder than it sounds," Sheppard said as the other personnel around them began to depart. "But anyway, let's get going," he said, reaching down for his sports bag. "We wouldn't want to keep the new boss waiting."

"What do you know about him?" Ronon asked, swinging his own up and over his shoulder as they began walking toward the airlock.

"Not much, but Woolsey vouches for him," Sheppard said as they stepped out onto the airlock corridor. "Same goes for General O'Neill too – as difficult as that is to believe."

"And just how long do you think he's going to last?" McKay said. "This base has already gone through two commanders over the course of the past six months. I mean, you saw how long Sam and Woolsey lasted."

"And Colonel Edwards and Colonel Grant were both military, Rodney," Sheppard replied, taking a pause as he stepped over to the railing. "And you know as well as I do that the IOA only kept them here to oversee its construction."

"Well, yeah. Obviously."

The echo of Sheppard's whistle took on a life of its own as they looked out over the bay before them.

Even from here, the perspective may have changed, but the view struck them all again with its size, scope and scale. At over a kilometre long, a little over two hundred metres high and about five hundred metres wide, it was dwarfed only by that of the Ancient hangar bay where the Taranians had discovered the Hippaforalkus/ Orion on Taranis.

His gaze drawn off toward where another door capped off the other end of the bay, Sheppard nodded. "I don't know about you guys, but this place is really beginning to grow on me."

"Well, it's no Atlantis, that's for sure," McKay said, drawing back from the railing – a shudder going through him as he took a tentative peek down at the hangar floor far below.

Technicians and engineers were already beginning to move toward the Apollo, along with dozens of heavy duty cranes and work platforms extending out toward its hull from deep recesses within the bay walls.

"They sure don't waste any time," Sheppard remarked as he watched them set to work beneath them.

"That's because we don't have any to waste, Colonel."

Sheppard looked up, turning with the others. They had not discarded the Atlantis Expedition uniforms, he saw, noting the red trim about the shoulders and at the wrists. "Mr. Farren, I presume?"

With a smile, Farren extended his hand; his grip was firm. "Colonel Sheppard," he said. "It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. Your record is… impressive to say the least."

Sheppard smiled. "I suppose it makes for a good read in places."

"And I have yet to finish."

"Well, when you've got the fate of a few galaxies hanging in the balance –"

"Hey, Captain America didn't do all that by himself, you know!" McKay cut in, visibly affronted.

A breath escaped Sheppard's lips, displacing that of his own reply. "And of course, needing no introduction, Doctor Rodney Reply."

"Ah, yes, Doctor McKay," Farren said, extending his hand again with a curt nod. "I'm fair certain I saw your name in there somewhere."

Sheppard smiled, taking a brief moment to indulge in watching McKay's expression harden before he gestured to Ronon. "And this here is –"

"Ronon Dex," Farren finished. "A man who needs no introduction," he said, his voice firm as they shook hands.

"Hey."

Farren smiled. "And might I be the first to welcome you all to the Alpha Site."

"And might I be the first to say that I love what you've done with the place," Sheppard said.

"Well, I may have put forward a few design ideas, but I can't take all the credit."

"Well, colour me impressed."

Farren smiled again. "Oh, believe you me, Colonel, you have seen nothing yet."

* * *

They stepped around and weaved paths through the other personnel that had disembarked with them as Farren walked with them toward the Alpha Site airlock corridor. The sight of the hangar bay had struck them all alike, with some taken aback by how large the Apollo and her sister ships were as they looked down upon her.

"… and Atlantis was ill-suited to maintaining our fleet during its operation here," Farren continued as they walked, "further evidenced by the outcome of our engagements with the Wraith Super-Hive earlier this year."

"Well, in all fairness, that was a pretty hard nut to crack," Sheppard said.

"Yes, and the Daedalus spent the better part of two months towing the Sun Tzu back to Earth for repairs. And we were fortunate that the Apollo did not follow suit either."

"Or Atlantis for that matter," McKay added.

"Which only serves to reinforce the need for such a base to exist," Farren said.

"And just how long before it's finished?" Sheppard asked.

"Well, as far as operational purposes are concerned, we are. However, we are still awaiting the IOA's final decision on when our operations here are to begin," Farren replied. "But as for the base, the eastern housing complex is still under construction," he said as they reached the airlock corridor leading into the base. "Once that is complete, we should be able to bring in the rest of the personnel; upon which time, a decision should have been made."

"And in the meantime…" McKay let his question linger in the air as they stepped through the airlock door and into the corridor beyond.

"For the time being, and with the Beta Site serving as our intermediary for the transfer of personnel and supplies from Earth, the Gamma Site oversees all operations throughout the galaxy," Farren replied as he led them up the adjacent corridor.

"And how are we doing on that front?" Sheppard asked.

"Based on the intelligence we have been able to gather, it would seem that the Wraith civil war is causing various factions to behave rather unpredictably. Far beyond anything that we have observed so far."

"How so?"

"Well, it would appear that some factions are beginning to encroach upon other territories. Even when the odds are clearly not in their favour."

"They're getting desperate," Ronon said.

"It would appear so, yes. Todd's own faction have seen an increase in conflicts of upwards of forty percent since the incident with the Super-Hive."

"Could be why he's so insistent on meeting with us," Sheppard said.

"That was my assumption as well, yes," Farren replied. "By our own intelligence, Todd's Alliance has lost considerable assets since the advent of the civil war, and most notably since his partnership with us. We have confirmation of the loss of at least a half-dozen Hive ships and a handful of Cruisers. Not to mention several key Wraith facilities under his control."

And there, at the end of the corridor, was another airlock door. It read:

**HANGAR BAY 3 – AIRLOCK CORRIDOR 1**

But Farren led them past this and guided them on up the right hand corridor.

"Don't really so how's that's our problem," Ronon said in a dismissive tone. "So what if he's lost a few ships along the way."

"The problem is that, for the time being, we need the continuing support of Todd's Alliance if we are continue our fight against the Wraith," Farren replied. "Their intelligence, as limited as it may be, far surpasses what we are able to gather on our own – once we have verified it, of course. And do not forget that their military assistance was invaluable in our defeat of the Replicators."

"Still don't mean I trust 'em."

"I'm not asking you to," Farren said, stopping before an elevator on their left. Then, reaching out and pressing a button on the control panel, he said, "But you are correct in your surmise that we must exercise greater caution when dealing with Todd; or any other Wraith from his Alliance." The elevator doors opened, and he gestured them inside. "As you are all more than aware, our past dealings with his Alliance has caused considerable setbacks of our own. The Midway Space Station – and consequently, Earth – featured an incursion which you were barely able to contain, resulting in the destruction of the station. And of course, we have the incident with the Super-Hive."

"That wasn't exactly our fault, you know," McKay said as the elevator began to ascend.

"I am not here to lay the blame, Doctor McKay, and having reviewed the incident reports of those events, I do not believe that any blame should be laid upon any of you for what has occurred."

"Tell that to the IOA," Sheppard said. "Those reports were pretty thorough."

"Yes, and whilst they can sometimes have an overly critical view of how operations are carried out, I often find myself agreeing with them. Not always," he quickly added, "but often."

And with that, the elevator came to a gentle halt and the doors opened.

"So where are we headed to again?" McKay asked as they stepped out.

"Just through here."

Farren had stepped out and was gesturing to a room directly opposite the elevator. A sign above the door read:

**HANGAR BAY 3 – CONTROL ROOM**

Sheppard and McKay both frowned at this. "I thought the Apollo was the only ship we have out here?"

"And it is," Farren said. "However, whilst serving as both our operational headquarters, and as a drydock facility for the servicing of our fleet, we are also afforded the opportunity to construct new ships."

"You mean…"

"You're building another ship here?" McKay said, surprised.

"And not just any ship, Doctor McKay," Farren said, and a smile broke across his face. Then, opening the door and stepping through into the control room, he turned back, beckoning them inside. "Colonel Sheppard, Doctor McKay, Ronon, may I present, the BC-305, Athena Class."

* * *

Note: Just a quick note to let you know that I am currently building a model of the BC-305 at home, so if you wish to see it for yourselves, go to my reddit page – CGH01 – and you can find the links from the various stages of its construction. I don't use reddit much, but the latest update should be at the top, but I really hope you like the look of it nonetheless. Long Live Stargate!

* * *

Set high up against the western wall of the hangar bay, the control room offered the absolute finest view to observe the construction of the Athena Class. And although it was but yet a hollow shell of framework, the difference in design to the Daedalus class stood out immediately as they stepped into the busy, and now rather crowded control room.

Sweeping his gaze up towards the ships bow where its neck seemed to almost reach out and touch the hanger bay door and then back down toward its stern, Sheppard stared, taken aback at the sight before them.

"You're building it already?" McKay said, looking to Farren.

"Construction began six weeks ago," Farren replied, standing to one side so to let them examine the ship for themselves.

McKay drew back with slight surprise. "You did all this in six –"

"Now wait just a minute," Sheppard broke in. "You knew about this?"

McKay's brows drew together. "And you didn't? Aren't you supposed to be the Air Force Colonel here?"

"Well, I didn't know it was being built yet," Sheppard said. "The last I heard, Homeworld Command were still working on the design."

"There are still a few aspects which Homeworld Command are still working on," Farren said, stepping closer, "but the overall design of the ship has been agreed upon, and it is… impressive to say the least."

"You can say that again," Sheppard agreed.

"But still, you did all this in six weeks?" McKay continued.

"Thanks to our matter fabricators, yes."

"Matter fabricators?" Ronon said.

Farren nodded. "As part of their Legacy, the Asgard have provided us with the means to convert energy into matter."

"So you can make anything you want?"

"There are limitations to this technology, of course. Primarily with regard to power consumption. However, we have been able to overcome this by reconstituting existing matter to form whatever materials we require."

"Existing matter?" Sheppard asked.

"Oh, yes. As we have found out, it is a lot more energy efficient to convert a slab of rock into a structural support beam than it is to create one out of pure energy."

McKay nodded, looking back to the Athena Class and what must have amounted to thousands of tonnes of metal. He knew all too well how power intensive such conversions were, having helped Carter refine the technology on several occasions. But even he couldn't begin to comprehend how much refined naquadah the matter fabricators must have burned through to create what he saw before him – and it was still just a hollow shell.

"It's bigger than the Daedalus," Ronon commented, growing a little bored of the science talk.

Farren nodded. "Four hundred metres longer, in fact," he said. "The width and height should be roughly the same size, but when she is finished, I believe she should be a little over a kilometre in length."

Sheppard whistled. "A kilometre?"

"With the increased complement of F-302's that she will be carrying, the Athena Class has been redesigned so that its hangar bays are situated in a single central structure toward the ship's stern. Just here," he said, pointing it out on a monitor just in front of where Ronon stood at his side. "As you can see, it consists of three bays. These top two will serve for the launching of four F-302 squadrons each, with –"

"Eight squadrons!"

Farren smiled indulgently at both Sheppard and McKay's reaction. "With a further two squadrons in reserve on the third hangar bay below."

"Eighty 302's!" Sheppard exclaimed again. "Are you for real?"

"Quite real, Colonel," Farren said. "You see, after conducting a thorough analysis of all fleet combat reports pertaining to our engagements with the Wraith, Homeworld Command has highlighted several key areas where they believe changes need to be made. The first of which being the need for an increased F-302 complement."

"To counter the Darts," Sheppard guessed; to which Farren nodded.

"With Wraith Hive ships capable of fielding hundreds of them, it was the only logical choice."

"What about weapons?" Ronon asked.

"The armament of the Athena Class is quite similar to what you would find on the Daedalus Class, with only one addition; of which ties in very closely with the ships ability to counter Wraith Darts," Farren replied. He then continued, "In order to act as a secondary defensive screen against the Darts, besides her railguns and of course her F-302's, the Athena Class will feature a secondary missile battery comprised of the same missiles utilised by the F-302's themselves.

"Air-to-air missiles?" Sheppard said.

"This way we do not have to risk our pilot's lives unless absolutely necessary – of which we have suffered grievous loses in past engagements."

That very thought passed through Sheppard's mind before he had even spoken. He knew the risk of being a pilot all to well, and especially when pitted against the Wraith. Barely a quarter of his squadron had returned to base following their engagement with the Darts from the Super-Hive. Some had been lost in their desperate battle to rid themselves of the Asuran replicators. Others had met their end in the Milky Way fighting the Lucian Alliance and the Ori and the last remnants of the Goa'uld. "That's…"

"Going to waste a lot of missiles," McKay broke in, looking up from the monitor.

"Well, of course it will. However, Homeworld Command believes that the benefits outweighs the expenditure in this regard."

"And just how many batteries are we talking about here?" Sheppard asked. "I mean, air-to-airs are pretty small after all."

"Sixty-four in total. And as for the primary batteries, her complement has been increased to twenty-four. Twelve Asgard plasma beam cannons," Farren continued. "Forty-eight railgun emplacements, which Doctor McKay here has provided his assistance with increasing their overall impact velocities from mach five to mach six."

"And a half," McKay put in.

"Six point six seven, I believe," Farren corrected him. "But overall, her offensive capabilities should prove more than a match for a Wraith Hive."

"That'll be a sight to see," Sheppard said.

"Well, in six months – if everything goes according to plan, that is – you may very well get the chance to see that for yourselves. But in the meantime, we have an appointment to keep."


End file.
